


White Knuckles

by chiseplushie, disillusionist9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beauxbatons, Dating, Depression, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Healing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-War, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiseplushie/pseuds/chiseplushie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/disillusionist9/pseuds/disillusionist9
Summary: After fighting the quicksand of war he didn't ask for, Harry is left to adjust to a new world. Some things never change, and others change for the better. Co-written by Chiseplushie & Disillusionist9. - slow burn, eventual drarry fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring:  
> \+ Angst  
> \+ Healing/Comfort  
> \+ "Hogwarts 8th year"
> 
> White Knuckles - Co-written by Chiseplushie & Disillusionist9. (Love ya, D9). Come visit us on tumblr :)

**Chapter 01**

****

****

**May 1998**

Most of the time he doesn't know what's happening around him. Or the exact date.

He fumbles in the morning when the alarm goes off, blurrily thinks about having breakfast and then snoozes until he has to scramble out of bed and into the shower. Harry is consistently late for Auror training but is on time for each one of the funerals and Death Eater trials he attends. If he sets his alarm to go off thirty minutes earlier on those days, well, no one needs to know.

There are celebration parties and interviews to attend, but with everything else on his plate, he doesn't go to them. Harry isn't interested in showing up at those events.

He has lunch with the fellow Auror trainees, settling down next to Ron at the table with his tray laden with that day's Special from the canteen. There's a hollowness he feels in his chest, but Harry ignores it, choosing to eat the slice of cherry pie first. He's an adult and he vanquished Tom Riddle Jr., he thinks to himself, he can eat his dessert first if he wants to. The tart cherries burst with flavor on his tongue, doing little to fill the emptiness within himself.

At home, he showers, glances at his post, and falls into bed with his hair still damp. Sometimes not in that order, and other times he just goes straight to bed.

Once a week after training or trial days, Harry has dinner with Hermione and Ron. Harry arrives home later than he mentally plans to on those days, stuffed full of food and good spirits. Hermione has been helping with the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts and she rattles off a list of all the people who are helping too. She doesn't waste any time telling the boys to come back to school in the fall. He misses seeing her every day like he used to, so he doesn't mind her clucking over the state of his health, and definitely doesn't mind getting home late.

On the evenings Hermione doesn't force him to have dinner with both Ron and herself, Harry goes home alone to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and tells himself to catch up on the mountain of post that's piling up on his kitchen table. He remembers telling Kreacher to not sort the mail (except dangerous letters, Kreacher bins those), and Harry often wonders if it would be considered too lazy of him to ask Kreacher to sort the mail after all.

Harry doesn't ask, and the pile continues to grow until the weekend.

The mountain of letters is higher than he thought possible and the only letter he sent off with his scops owl Cari, is a short note to Draco Malfoy. Honestly, Harry only replies to Malfoy's Thank You letter because the eagle owl catches him before he retires for the night. All the other mail is usually delivered while he is out and about during the day.

The Thank You letter arrives the same day Harry returns Malfoy his wand, the same day the Wizengamot sentences Lucius to ten years in Azkaban. Narcissa receives one year of house arrest and Draco is on probation - and that's the point when Harry stops listening. He's tired and his stomach is growling and he's mentally preparing himself for the next thing he has to do that day. And the next day. And the next day. He's not sure what the date is, though he's sure the weekend is coming soon.

It's been a month since the Final Battle, and he's not sure where time went off to. He certainly hasn't been having fun, and even Hermione doesn't say anything about the dark circles under his eyes anymore. She clucks and presses her lips together, but doesn't try to persuade him to go back to Hogwarts to finish his N.E.W.T.s like she usually does. He suspects Ron isn't so lucky.

Later, when his chest clenches, he turns the water temperature up as high as he can handle and scrubs until his legs won't hold him up anymore. Harry sits down in the tub, his head is cradled in his arms, and the spray pounds against his back while he makes a mental note to pick up something for sore muscles. The steam makes it easier to breathe.

~ o ~ o ~

**June - July 1998**

Two months into the summer Harry still doesn't get the days of the week right. Harry has dinner occasionally with Ron and Hermione, though he only sees the rest of the Weasleys on Sundays for dinner.

He's not really avoiding Ginny, because she's spending time at home with her family. She tells him how she divides up her visits with Luna, Neville, and Dean. Harry doesn't flinch when she mentions her ex-boyfriend and he wonders if he should feel jealous. He knows from Hermione's letters that Ginny occasionally helps at Hogwarts. The guilt he feels about not helping to rebuild Hogwarts gnaws at him, even though he tries to shed it from his mind. Everyone seems to be busy with their own lives to notice the way he's withdrawing into himself.

Harry feels Ginny's eyes on him as he makes his way to the Floo. He leaves in a whirl of green flames before the walls start to suffocate him.

He occasionally goes through his mail, and the only ones he reads and replies to are official looking pieces from the Ministry or letters from Hermione. His efforts are fruitless since he only replies to a handful of letters at a time, but he's cheered a little when Cari hoots encouragingly at him. He ignores the sadness creeping up behind him, caressing the back of his neck, and applies himself to Auror training with more vigor than before. Though there aren't any more trials to take up his waking hours, he still manages to arrive late on training days.

Harry is surprised to find out it's Mid-July. He thought it was late June and then idly wonders why he knows Malfoy's birthday is sometime in early June. It's a fleeting thought that he doesn't chase after.

He tries and fails in convincing Molly he doesn't really need or want a birthday party. He gives in because he knows his friends and family need more happiness to cling to. Molly agrees to a "quiet family dinner" but for once, Harry isn't looking forward to spending time with the vast family. He doesn't want to be dragged beneath the surface and drowned under their attention. Harry is both glad and relieved that Andromeda and Teddy come to his birthday dinner, since he's only visited with them a couple of times over the summer. His relief has nothing to do with the fact that Teddy draws some the attention away.

He's thankful for the Weasleys and appreciates their enthusiasm, but Auror training takes up all his time and energy. Ron's not faring much better but he seems to be enjoying himself, which is more than Harry can say for himself.

It's killing me, he confides to Hermione in his letters. Harry tells her he's tired but he (and Ron) can't wait to see her for dinner later that week.

From time to time, Hermione encourages both him and Ron to finish their education. It hasn't escaped her notice that Harry has lost weight, that Auror training is taking it's toll. It's Ron who is filling out, as Harry builds muscle but stays slim. While Ron orders more chips and drinks at the counter of their favorite fish and chip joint, Hermione leans across the table and takes one of his hands in hers.

She sighs and purses her lips before the words come rushing out. "Harry, I love you, but this has to stop. Don't think I haven't noticed, just because I don't always say something."

"What has to stop?" He tenses, his tongue feels like sand in his mouth.

"This!" She gestures to all of him. "You haven't been taking care of yourself. And don't tell me you have, Harry James Potter. The war has been over for three months! You look," Hermione pauses, softening her tone. "You still look as if we're still living out of the tent and eating burnt mushrooms. I'm worried for you."

He talks, pressing his knuckles against his eyes until he sees blots of color instead of dead faces. He sleeps regularly but she assures him that knocking out on the couch almost every night and only eating lunch on most days are definitely not proper life choices. He doesn't agree to taking a Holiday because he secretly doesn't want to travel alone.

His stomach is full and Harry thinks being wrong will always leave a bitter taste in his mouth. With promises to give Hogwarts more thought, as well as eating more often, he leaves his best friends for the night. Harry tries, but his not-routine is still the same.

~ o ~ o ~

**August 1998**

Harry is bone weary and finally has more time for himself. He doesn't have funerals to attend anymore, and the trials finished weeks ago.

Hermione steps out of the fireplace on a Saturday in August with a thick envelope from the Headmistress. She pulls him out of bed, dumps him in bathroom to shower, and doesn't make a fuss about the piles of letters in the kitchen that Harry has left unanswered. He dresses in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt before heading downstairs. They have tea on Harry's napping couch and his heart breaks as he tells her he cannot bring himself to complete Auror training.

He feels dejected and the feeling hasn't gone away no matter what he does. Overworking himself isn't helping. He doesn't want to go through Auror training anymore, and he means it. He uses less words than he imagined he would but she understands. She always understands him. His throat closes and Hermione lays her head on his shoulder speaking softly while Harry takes shaky deep breaths. She gives him the thick envelope full of parchment from McGonagall and he eyes her suspiciously. Hermione shrugs sheepishly, kisses him on the cheek, and tells him she planned on giving him the envelope anyways.

When she leaves to go back to Hogwarts, Harry enlists Kreacher to help him turn on the lights in every room. It helps lift him and Harry feels less lost and alone.

Harry sits down at the kitchen table with a fresh pot of tea, a stack of parchment, ink wells and quills. He sorts the letters alphabetically by the last names of people he knows, and then shoves everything else in a separate box which he will go through later. By the time he finishes sorting and alphabetising, he's made more trips to the loo than usual, thanks to Kreacher continuously refilling his tea pot, and is cheered at the being able to see the surface of the kitchen table. Kreacher makes him lunch and when the walls start shifting closer, Harry escapes to the back porch with his bowl of pasta. He's not hungry, but methodically forks pasta into his mouth while he works out a steady breathing pattern. He soaks up a bit of sun and Harry thinks he's doesn't hurt as much today.

He's been using Sirius' room as his own. After lunch, he digs through the dresser that holds his own clothes, hunting for a pair of clean socks. Summer is almost over but there's a chill that settles on his skin sometimes. Harry no longer questions it, or maybe he simply doesn't want to notice it anymore. He pulls on socks, and stuffs his toes into a pair of fuzzy Chudley Cannons slippers. He wanders back down to the kitchen and finally opens the thick envelope from McGonagall.

Inside, he finds a personal letter from McGonagall along with the usual book and supply lists.

  
_Dear Mr. Potter,_  
  
_I hope that everything is going well for you._  
  
_The rebuilding efforts here at Hogwarts are coming along smoothly, though I know I am not alone when I say that I have missed seeing you all summer._  
  
_I'm sure Ms. Granger has mentioned to you, as is her way, that we would love for you to come finish your last year of schooling. Hogwarts will re-open on the 1st of October._  
  
_In addition to completing your education, there is another matter I wanted to inform you about. As you well know, the Triwizard Tournament takes place once every four years. The Ministry has seen fit to continue the tradition this year. The Tournament will be held at Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts has been invited to compete. I've included a separate announcement in the packet._  
  
_Students who are of age are invited to finish their education at Beauxbatons. I'm sure there will be a great many students who will wish to enter the tournament. Although I understand if you do not want to travel abroad. You are most welcome to stay at Hogwarts._   
  
_The war was hard on everyone, especially you. The Board of Governors accepted the Ministry's invitation, the board believes the Tournament would be another effort towards unity in the face of the end of the war._  
  
_Let me know your decision. I will await your owl._  
  
_Sincerely Yours,_  
  
_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

____

____

_____ _

_____ _

There's a short missive permitting the Eighth years to leave Hogwarts grounds on the weekends, however their curfew is the same as all the other students' during the school week.

In the stack of parchment, McGonagall includes the official announcement regarding the Triwizard Tournament, and all interested students are strongly encouraged to attend. It's a standard letter which all students are receiving, but there's a note attached to the notice. The note is a gentle request from McGonagall that he seriously consider seeing a Mind Healer. Somehow it's Hermione's voice Harry hears in his mind as he reads the note. Harry tiredly rubs his face and thinks he will be plenty tired this school year even if he doesn't start seeing a Mind Healer. He sighs and sets the entire sheaf of parchment aside and tells himself to reply to the Headmistress later. Eventually.

Harry scribbles out a handful of replies and sends them off one by one with Cari. He sends off a reply to McGonagall last, with a list of the courses he wishes to take in an upbeat letter. He thinks about how a year at Beauxbatons would feel like a fresh start as he scribbles his reply. A place to make new memories. He isn't interested in the tournament and though travelling to a new place is scary, Harry knows he wouldn't be alone. Hermione wouldn't pass up this chance to visit a foreign school. He tells McGonagall he will most likely go with the other students to Beauxbatons, that he has no intention of participating in the tournament and finishes off the note with promises to give the counseling serious thought. Harry chews on his lip as he rereads his letter with a sense of finality, unsure of what he's doing in his life.

~ o ~ o ~

Harry wonders what the proper procedure is when he decides to submit his resignation notice.

He and Ron chat about it over apple crumble, inside their own private bubble during lunch. The rest of his lunch is untouched though the sweet cinnamon and tart fruit is enough. In the end, he decides to do it properly in person and goes to Kingsley first before meeting with the Head of the DMLE. He's anxious when he gives Kingsley only one week's notice. Kingsley just looks at him and kindly says he doesn't have to show up for the rest of the week. Kingsley promises Harry that he's always welcome to come back if that's what he wants, and as the Minister of Magic as well as his friend, he appreciates the time and effort that Harry has put in.

Harry is relieved.

His shoulders feel lighter, and he's just so glad he doesn't have to go back to training the next day. Instead of reading and answering letters, he eats dinner because he wants to (not because he should), tends to Cari and falls asleep on the couch more relaxed than ever.

~ o ~ o ~

Now that he doesn't have Auror training, Harry finds that he has more time on his hands than he knows what to do with. It's to be expected, since training was his only focus for the past few months. The relief he initially felt has faded. He feels lost again, but tries to not let it bother him.

With only the mountain of letters for company, Harry thinks he should find the proper outlet for his extra time. He Floo-calls Andromeda and spends the afternoon with Teddy three days in a row. His days are filled with laughter as he crawls after Teddy around the cottage. His clothes are spotted with baby food and grass stains rather than dirt, sweat and blood, but Harry thinks he's happier than he was.

Harry's evenings are interrupted as he tries to sleep. His chest is too small to contain his heart, the muscle beats wildly trying to escape its cage. His mouth and nose can't seem to take in enough air and he's gasping, eyes wet and blinking hard, his legs trapped in a tangle of sheets.

It's his own screams that wake him in the night.

On the fourth night, he gets out of bed and changes his clothes. He's wearing sweats and old trainers when he leaves Number Twelve. It's pitch black outside. When Harry returns from the jog, his skin is warm and cold at the same time and the sweat that rolls down his neck is from pounding his feet on the pavement instead of dreaming about the faces that will never see again. He falls asleep in bed fully clothed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring:  
> +Harry trying to get his shit together.
> 
> White Knuckles - Co-written by Chiseplushie & Disillusionist9. (Love ya, D9). - Come visit us on tumblr! :)

**September 1998**

As August bleeds into September Harry is lost. He admits this to himself. He thinks if he doesn't do something, he will surely go mad.

He's developed a habit of jogging in the mornings and when he comes back, he showers, then munches on toast for breakfast. He sips his coffee, eyeing the letters he is slowly ploughing through. Harry is restless as he wanders around Number Twelve, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He wants to do something, but doesn't know what he wants to do. He just knows what he doesn't want to do.

Harry tips his head back, catching the last bit of his coffee. He makes the decision to go out and buy cardboard boxes. A lot of boxes. When he gets back, he starts to fill them with Black family heirlooms, levitating everything he can see into a box. Halfway through the third box Harry wonders if he should go owl Narcissa about them or bin the items completely. By the time there's more ink blots on the parchment than actual words, Harry remembers that Andromeda is also a Black- sort of. He crumples up the parchment and sticks his head in the Floo instead, just in case.

"Harry!" Andromeda greets him with a warm smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hello 'Dromeda. I've started cleaning up Grimmauld Place. Er, the Weasleys and everyone started to awhile back, a few years ago. Anyway, I'm just clearing out the rest of the heirlooms. D'you want to sort them and see if there's any pieces you want to keep? Otherwise I was going to bin them."

She hums in reply, as she considers Harry's question.

"You don't have to decide this minute, I just wanted to have a better idea of what to do with all the-heirlooms." Junk.

Andromeda smiles as if she knows what he means. She probably does. "I'll be glad to come over and help you sort through the heirlooms."

Harry sputters, feeling both pleased at her offer and a bit like a burden because he hadn't intended to make more work for her. "I didn't mean- I just meant to ask if you wanted -"

"Nonsense," she insists.

"But-"

"Teddy will be happy to visit with Molly tomorrow while we work."

"Alright, then." His voice tilts as if in question but he continues on. "I'll most likely be sorting through all rooms the rest of the week. The Floo will be open, just come by when you're free."

There's a high pitched shriek and Andromeda huffs, turning her head towards the sound.

"I'm sorry Harry dear, I have to let you go. Teddy's starting to get fussy. I don't remember Nymphadora being in a constant state of hunger at this age, but what can you do?"

Harry's heart twinges, and he doesn't know what to say. "Right," his voice is small.

"I will see you tomorrow morning."

"Thank you."

The call ends, and Teddy's fussiness reminds him that lunch time has come and gone.

Making good on his promise to Hermione, Harry manages to eat half of his very late lunch - or is it early dinner? - before he decides to continue to tackle the bedrooms. He pauses outside the door marked Regulus Arcturus Black, and the thought of sorting through Regulus' room twists his stomach that he has to ask Kreacher to take care of that room.

Instead, Harry decides to start with the room he's most familiar with, Sirius' bedroom.

He can do this.

His fingers trail on the hard wood of the dresser, and his hand hovers on the miscellaneous pile of aged parchment. It's the letters Snape found that night. Harry clenches his jaw and withdraws his hand. The box which he's supposed to fill sits empty at the end of the bed.

Harry stands in front of Sirius' closet, his hand gripping the door handle tightly. One door is wide open and his eyes are stinging. Harry feels as if his lungs have been cleaved out from his chest, and he swallows the dry heady scent of leather, musk and something sharp that tickles his nose. It reminds Harry of every time Sirius walked past him, sat next to him, held him. Kreacher erased Sirius' scent from the rest of the bedroom and the furniture, but there inside the closet … he clamps his eyes shut, tears streaking down his face and Harry doesn't notice when he collapses on top of dragon hide boots. Cloaks and jumpers join him down on the floor in a jumbled mess; he is buried in a forest of shirts which sway on their hangers, caressing his back as he sobs. Everything is wrong and he can't stop crying.

He can't do this.

He shoves on his trainers, throws open the front door of Number Twelve, and bursts out into London. The world is blurry as Harry careens down the sidewalk. He bumps against the locals, rushing past softly lit windows until he can't feel his legs anymore. The sun hangs low in the sky, dipping quickly past the horizon leaving the beginnings of dusk in its wake. Harry sucks in ragged breaths, feeling as if he left his lungs scattered on the front steps of Number Twelve. He pushes his legs until he is almost flying but he isn't fast enough to outrun his grief.

~ o ~ o ~

The next day starts off the same. He's only slept a handful of hours, but that's a constant in his life right now. Jogging helps and he knows that he would sleep even less without the exercise. Harry eats his post-jog breakfast, toast and eggs this time and has a quick shower before Andromeda steps out of the Floo. Teddy is visiting the Weasleys and with Andromeda's help, they clear out Sirius' room first without any fuss. He still feels like he's on the edge of something, and is just about to lose his footing. It's as if a gust of wind would scatter him in a million pieces, but Harry knows Andromeda's presence has made him feel lighter today.

They make quick work of the rest of the townhouse during the next couple of days, and Andromeda even takes a few boxes home. She tells him that she and Narcissa have been corresponding via owl, and the particular pieces she's saved might be wanted later. Harry doesn't care either way, but he is glad that they're working to mend their family. She says that they never forgot how much they loved each other, and with effort, she hopes they can become close again. Don't forget how to live, Andromeda confides, and he internally questions if he misheard her and she actually said the word 'love'.

Sooner than he thinks possible, it's the weekend and Harry almost forgets his plans to have dinner with Ron and Hermione. But the day is still young, so Harry sits down at the kitchen table with a fresh pot of tea and determination in order to go through the next portion of letters. He decides to reply to as many as possible, and bundles the rolls of parchment together to send off in bulk later at the post office.

By lunch time, Harry is on his third pot of tea and his hand is cramping even though he cheats by duplicating the standard "No thank you" response to send to all the people who wanted to interview him or offered to write his biography.

He feels the gloominess looming around him and he tells himself it's from the Dark Magic residue bleeding from the walls. He wants to take a nap and do something, anything, at the same time. Since Number Twelve barely has furniture left over from what he calls The Purge, Harry decides against the nap, and changes his clothes. He wants to be productive, so he heads out to Diagon Alley with the intention to shop for furniture. He regrets not stopping off at the post office first, to rid himself of the massive bundle of letters which are shrunk down in the pocket of his jumper.

As Harry slowly walks around the furniture store, he can feel over ten pairs of eyes on him. It's not new to him of course, being the Chosen One, the one who defeated You-Know-Who. After thirty minutes of gawking, the patrons have stopped coming up to speak with him. He's thankful.

Staring at lime green paisley fabric and cherry wood furniture, he's beginning to regret attempting this task on his own. Eyeing the long silver tassels, Harry chews on the inside of his cheek and he thinks he really must be barking mad because he sort of likes the way the tassels look.

Harry's saved from actually buying the horrid living room set by an overly helpful sales assistant whose name tag reads "&drew". It takes Harry five minutes to realize the sales assistant's name is actually "Andrew". Huh.

An hour later, Harry's run his hands through his mop of hair so many times he can't bring himself to care about what it looks like anymore. He's overwhelmed and wishes Andromeda were here. Harry's sure he won't ever be able to tell the difference between cherry wood versus teak wood and decides to stick with mahogany for no other reason than he finds the word fun to pronounce.

Two hours later, Harry has ordered furniture sets for the living room, second sitting room which he thinks will be more like a den, the bedrooms, the office-slash-library, dining area and miscellaneous end tables, lamps and free standing cabinets he probably doesn't need. He especially likes the squashy sofa for the den.

He's not great with social cues and Harry thinks this furniture shopping thing is a success until he's signing the delivery papers and Gringotts cheque to be sent off to the bank for payment. The bright smiles and casual touching should have been his first clue. Harry might have tuned out Andrew's excited explanations about each furniture set now and then but he is definitely listening when he clearly hears Andrew asking him out to coffee date.

"What?" Harry's face and neck are flushed, and there's a kink in his neck from turning so quickly.

"I said, d'you want to go have coffee sometime? Or tea, if that's your fancy." Andrew smiles, a bit shy.

"Er, are you gay?" He blurts, the quill snapping in his hand. Green eyes are wide behind his frames, embarrassment clear on his face. He bites his lip, and feels all the blood rush to his face which makes him blush harder. "I mean, no! Not, no, to your question. - No, you don't have to answer that. I don't know why I said that. I mean, you obviously do prefer blokes since you asked me out. That was rude of me. Not that it matters, I don't mind. I mean, it doesn't matter to me if you are gay. Really."

Harry can't stop talking now, even though he desperately wants to shut his mouth. He doesn't give Andrew the time to say anything, the words are spewing from his lips like vomit.

"I'm sorry, again. I'm flattered, and I didn't expect you to ask me out. I didn't mean to offend you," he almost lifts his hand to pat Andrew on the shoulder, and then stops. He hopes Andrew didn't notice. "And, er - if you wanted to hex me or punch me right now, I wouldn't blame you. It's perfectly fine, if you prefer blokes. But I'm not sure about the coffee date? If the offer still stands, I'll owl you some other time. If that's all right?"

Andrew's lips part, and he is about to reply when Harry cuts him off again.

"I've got to head off to the post office. But thank you for your assistance. You've been a tremendous help, honestly." He flashes a smile and scurries off, tripping over the heavy rugs on display as he tries to not run out the door.

Harry is out of breath when he reaches the post office and stands in the queue. He thinks the furniture will be delivered in a week but he doesn't remember. All he can think about is his lack of dating experience, and would he like to be in a relationship with a bloke? Does he even like blokes that way? Does he like girls that way? What does he like? It doesn't matter to him, either way but he just wants to know these things about himself.

Harry Apparates and meets up with Ron and Hermione at the Thai restaurant on their dinner rotation. It's muggle, the food is lovely and Harry wishes he had an appetite.

Ron arrives late, at the same time the waiter delivers their drinks and Tom Kha Gai. Harry knows he should be hungry as he spoons the fragrant soup into his mouth, but he doesn't have an appetite. The coconut milk is sweet and creamy, the chicken is hardy and the lemongrass is soothing. He doesn't mention to Hermione that he skipped lunch, and to be honest he can't remember if he ate breakfast.

When the trio put in their orders for their family style dinner, Harry doesn't miss the fact that the waiter is flirting with him. At least, he thinks the waiter is flirting with him. He can't be sure exactly and might be his imagination, as he's not the expert in these situations.

Ron gives a brief account of Auror training, sharing anecdotes about other trainees and Harry doesn't miss it. He does miss eating his dessert first though, and resolves to do that more often.

He learns from Hermione that Draco Malfoy has slowly made his way around Hogwarts' staff and student volunteers to apologize for… everything. He vaguely remembers Malfoy as one of the volunteers Hermione listed as helping with the school's rebuilding efforts. Is it possible to be both pleasantly surprised and not surprised at all, he asks himself. People grow and change, hopefully for the better.

"Mate, I got an owl the other day from Malfoy!" Ron chimes in. "I haven't replied yet."

"D'you think Malfoy is being sincere?" Harry winces, immediately feeling a prickle of guilt.

"Ron!"

"I thought it was prank, Hermione."

"Of course he's being sincere. Ron, you should acknowledge his letter with a simple reply at the very least." Hermione's pony tail sways from side to side as she shakes her head.

Ron stirs his Thai iced tea vigorously. He narrowly avoids sloshing liquid over the side of the tall glass. "What the bloody hell am I supposed to say? Malfoy apologized for being the world's biggest prat and asked for a truce between our families. It looked like he used up twelve inches of parchment!"

"Be honest. If you need to think it over first, then do what you need to do. Just don't forget to owl him back, before you forget. It's only polite."

"Not bloody likely." He mutters.

"Ron! I heard that."

"Alright, alright. I'll owl him." Hermione narrows her eyes at he, so he adds, "Promise."

Harry snickers into his glass as Hermione sighs and updates them about Hogwarts. The waiter comes to drop off their entrees and Harry misses the first part of Hermione's news.

"...the school will be ready to open in October as planned but there will be parts of the castle closed off and still under construction."

She mentions that Neville, Luna and Hagrid are all doing well and Harry realizes with a pang in his chest that he hasn't written them all summer, except to thank them for their birthday gifts and cards.

Hermione brightens even more so when she shares her excitement about the upcoming tournament. Ron expresses his wishes to watch the tournament, knowing it wouldn't be easy to get the time off just so he could be a spectator. Harry reminds him it's not too late to change his mind, and Ron deflates as he thinks about having to do homework. He'd much rather continue on with his Auror training, Ron insists.

Harry approaches the topic of dating the same way he chows down on his plate of noodles, without pausing for breath or stopping to consider just how many peppers he's added. He ends up sweating, stuttering and after wiping his brow, hurries on with his story before his mouth stops working.

By the time he's done recounting the tale about Andrew and moving on to his suspicions about the waiter, his face is burning from more than just heat of the hot peppers. Ron is red in the face from trying to not burst from laughter and Hermione is smiling knowingly. She sends Ron to pick up more beer, but Harry knows it's a feeble excuse to talk to him alone. Plus she can't talk over Ron's guffaws.

While Ron is gone, Hermione pats him on the shoulder and asks Harry what's really bothering him. He was never really shy in commenting on his appreciation for both the male and female forms, though Hermione says she suspects that Harry himself never noticed. He tries to explain that, well, it's not that he's weirded out by blokes exactly, but he didn't really see himself as attractive to other men. Or attracted to them. He was just surprised.

Her fingers reach across the table, threading through his and says they didn't quite have time to date but it's not too late to start exploring. She tells him to close his eyes and imagine Oliver Wood, and when he stares back at her with an eyebrow raised and she amends her statement to include, "in his quidditch leathers". He closes his eyes and does what she says but hears her muttered, "or starkers is fine too" and they both snort. He feels ridiculous but sobers up the moment when Ron gets back with their drinks.

He admits that Oliver Wood did look quite fit flying around the quidditch pitch. Memory-Harry watches Oliver move in the air while he makes his rounds seeking the snitch. A blur of green and silver streaks past him, it's Malfoy dressed in his quidditch leathers with a sharp smirk that makes an appearance on his pale face and Harry quickly opens his eyes. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he knocks over his water in his haste to grab his beer.

She chews on her top lip and says haltingly that it's perfectly acceptable if Harry likes men and women or just one or the other or neither. She's using her gentle voice, the one she uses when she thinks that what she has to say has a good chance of offending you. Harry isn't offended. Hermione asks him if he could see himself in a relationship with a bloke, and it's the same question he was asking himself the entire day. If he were to be in any romantic relationship with a witch or a wizard, he'd want it to be a healthy one. He says so.

He also admits that he finds both men and women attractive, though Harry knows he sounds unsure. Ron waggles his brows while he tells Harry that he definitely isn't attracted to men, so there's more options available to Harry.

Hermione's smile is catching and she says he'll be fine and to get back into the dating scene when he's ready. Harry's convinced he's still confused.

Harry updates them about his renovations at Number Twelve, his days spent with Teddy and Andromeda and mentions that Narcissa and Andromeda are mending fences. He's not even close to being finished with Number Twelve, but is happy with the progress.

"That's good, isn't it? Andromeda and Narcissa are reconnecting." Hermione replies.

Harry shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

"She's a Malfoy though," Ron insists. There's a bit of foam on his lip. Neither Harry or Hermione have pointed it out yet. "Do you think that's a good idea for Teddy to be near her?"

"Mrs. Malfoy was a Black first, Ronald."

"Dromeda would know best." Harry's tone is neither sarcastic or bitter. "We've just come out of war. It makes sense that people are putting family first." He knows Ron gets the hint, the redhead is living at the Burrow after all.

"Teddy will get to know his aunt, and what a loving mum she is. People change." Hermione says. It's a statement they've repeated over again and again.

"It's hard to believe it before I see it."

Hermione sighs, it's one of their agree to disagree things. She doesn't tell Ron about the foam.

~ o ~ o ~

The next day Harry really doesn't want to get out of bed.

The only thing on his agenda today is the weekly Sunday dinner at the Burrow and Harry can't be bothered to get out of bed to go on his morning jog. He has had a lot of excitement this week, what with clearing out Number Twelve, buying furniture and realizing that might want to be more than 'just friends' with blokes.

He rolls over and falls asleep again, dreaming about talking furniture, a flying silver fish which morphs into Malfoy, who taunts him at first and then tries to hug him. When dream-Malfoy transforms into his purple-faced Uncle Vernon, Harry is jolted awake. He presses his knuckles into his eyes, trying to remember what he dreamt about but in his haziness all Harry remembers is a silver fish.

~ o ~ o ~

September 1998 - Continued

The lack of sleep is chipping away at Harry. He's tired during odd times in the day. It's a drawn out battle, he's flailing, limping along and he is on the losing side. Harry is sleeping less during the night now than he was when he had Auror training. His daily jogs aren't enough to force him to sleep through the entire night like he hoped, but they help a little. His nightmares and fatigue chase him around Number Twelve.

He doesn't want to go out, but he forces himself. Harry tells himself to go out and buy Hermione a lovely birthday gift, then makes a note to stop by the apothecary to pick up as many vials of sleeping potion he can get his hands on.

Harry is browsing at Flourish and Blotts and he's unsure of what exactly he's looking for. Mostly, he picks up books with interesting covers and then re-shelves them. Nothing really catches his eye, well, not books anyways. Although it's a weekday, the shop seems to be quite busy with a fair amount of shoppers. He is dressed as he usually is, clad in his casual muggle clothes, the cuffs and hem lines a little frayed. He knows he is still easily recognized.

While he considers buying a new wardrobe, an older witch approaches Harry. He concedes to an autograph but hugging a stranger makes Nagini dressed up in Bathilda Bagshot's skin flash in his mind. He's not sure why, but he wants to get as far away from this woman as possible. Harry feels his tongue cringe, bile is burning his throat as he politely declines. His refusal doesn't seem to bother her. He scoops up the books he needs for his last year of schooling, and with Number Twelve's remodeling on his mind, Harry adds a few books on home decorating spells.

A few witches and wizards catch his notice, Harry is convinced that it must be his sleep deprived brain, because Merlin that wizard with shaggy hair looks bloody fine. Blushing furiously, Harry leaves that section of store in search for the Runes section to find a proper gift for Hermione instead of for himself. Harry picks out a few advanced looking books on Runes to pick from and with the help of the shopkeeper, ends up buying two books for Hermione. He likes the book covers.

Harry pays for his purchases, satisfied with his shopping trip. He shrinks down the items, and stores them neatly in his pockets.

Harry makes a quick detour at a Witch and Wizard spa, Blue Allure, recommended by the helpful Flourish and Blotts shopkeeper, and buys Hermione a voucher for two.

As he briskly walks to the apothecary, he is stopped by no less than four reporters and more than twice as many admirers. The reporters want to know what he's up to today and why Harry hasn't been seen at the Ministry. The admirers, thankfully, just want to say a quick hello. It takes him ten minutes longer to get to the shop than it normally would, and after all these years he is still uncomfortable with the attention. He tries to not groan in irritation when some witches and wizards follow him into the shop, but quickly does his shopping for potions ingredients and then tries to be nonchalant as he asks the shopkeeper for sleeping potions. He's asking for a friend, of course. Harry pays double the selling price of the potions for the shopkeeper's discretion.

Harry downs one vial of potion and settles down in bed, ready to get a full night's rest.

Later, Harry wants to laugh himself into next week because it turns out the sleeping potions were a very bad idea. It's almost worse than following the spiders into the Forbidden Forest back in second year.

The potion does what it is supposed to. There's no questioning the effectiveness of the brew. He gets an entire eight hours of memories and nightmares. Harry is trapped inside his dreamscape and a part of him is aware he's dreaming as he watches the ragged bits of truth mold together seamlessly with the imaginary. When he is finally able to wake, Harry is terrified out of his mind. He trips over the blankets he had pushed off the bed, and spends a very long time rocking back and forth on the floor of his tub, soaking up the heat of the shower's spray.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring:  
> +Harry and Hermione have dinner together. Hermione brings a guest.

**September 1998 - Continued**

Harry isn't sure what day of the week it is today. Other than using the loo, eating occasionally and leaving Number Twelve to go on his daily run (and then shower), he confines himself to his bedroom for the two days following the sleeping potion debacle. Possibly three? He doesn't keep track.

Whatever day it is, is the day Harry finally gets out of bed. He is mobile only because he's received an owl from Ron about their weekly dinners with Hermione. Ron is unable to meet them this week, and has already owled Hermione. Harry wonders whether or not Hermione would come over straight away to Number Twelve if he canceled too. It's a silly thought, Harry knows she would see through his attempt at avoidance and come over as soon as she could, with Take Away containers in hand. Tradition is tradition. Sighing, Harry replies to Ron and then dashes off a quick note to Hermione with Cari, asking her to choose the next venue.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes before checking the time. It's half past noon. Harry spent the morning dosing in bed after exercising, before Ron's owl woke him up. After some internal debate, he decides to not go back to sleep, and slowly peels himself off his dressing gown to get ready for the day.

He's made a significant dent in his mail, when he receives Hermione's reply. There's a pile of replies which are addressed and ready to be owled next to him and a plate of dinner sitting to his left.

She asks him if he'd like to come have dinner at Hogwarts or in Hogsmeade. Otherwise she would prefer the Italian place tomorrow, unless he is feeling up to cooking. Harry thinks about how Number Twelve is partially furnished, if he has enough energy to go to the market to buy groceries and cook for two, or if he wants to spend time with the motley crew of witches and wizards at Hogwarts.

Mostly though, he thinks about how he should want to see Hermione but actually doesn't want to see her … or anyone else for that matter.

His thoughts taking him astray, he concludes that Hermione doesn't want to have dinner with him at all, and is only doing so out of habit. Ron as well. Harry swallows the bitter taste of guilt and wishes he could use a banishing charm to clear the thoughts away. Ron and Hermione like brother and sister to him at this point in their lives, he knows this. He reassures himself that he's being silly. Harry scribbles his reply, saying he'll meet her at the Italian place at their usual time, watching Cari as she flies out the window in a black streak.

~ o ~ o ~

Harry is on time. He is neither late nor early for once, but Hermione has beaten him to the restaurant. The staff is familiar with the trio, and the hostess points Hermione out to him. Harry thanks her.

Hermione has snagged a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and is sitting in the squishy corner seat. She waves to him from her preferred seat, facing the door. There are two chairs on the outer perimeter of the table. Behind her are two large decorative mirrors, framed photographs of hills and children playing in vineyards splashed with springtime flowers. The occupants of the photographs do not move. The room is bright and the only candlesticks in sight are the small tea lights are used for ambient lighting. Hermione has ordered wine as usual, though Harry's glass sits empty, waiting to be filled. There isn't anything unusual about that.

Sitting next to her, is a very male, very familiar blond wizard dressed in muggle clothes. His hair is cut short, the shortest length Harry has ever seen. There is a bit of color in his cheeks, and he no longer looks like death walking on two legs. That's how Harry remembers seeing him last, at his trial. Healthy is a good look for him. Pale fingers lightly play with the stem of his wine glass, as if he is anxiously meeting an old friend. Or a blind date. Though he's dressed in a soft periwinkle sweater, and jeans, Harry notes later, there is no mistaking that Draco Malfoy is sitting next to Hermione Granger. And he's looking _bloody fit._

He's mentally patting himself on the back for not turning tail and walking out. Gryffindor or not, this wasn't exactly the type of dinner he agreed to. Merlin, he barely wanted to see Hermione to begin with. He's been blindsided, Hermione knows this. He's not sure if he would've agreed to show up had he known beforehand.

Harry clenches his jaw and hopes his expression is neutral as he weaves around the other patrons. He isn't mad, not really. Harry is unpleasantly surprised. A bit of warning would have been nice. His hands are in his pockets, as he stands next to their table. He nods politely to Malfoy and signals wordlessly to Hermione that he'd like to speak to her. She excuses herself and they leave Malfoy sitting alone inside the muggle restaurant. Harry thinks this is one of those times he'll look back upon and laugh.

Outside, Harry leads Hermione to a secluded space nearby. The area really isn't separate from the walkway, there's a flower bush and they're clearly standing on the sidewalk, but Hermione surreptitiously casts them into their own privacy bubble. Hermione takes in his narrowed eyes, his expression is half exasperated, half irritated, and launches into a quick explanation about Malfoy's presence, about how they have been working together at Hogwarts - they are not terribly close - but are on friendly terms. Harry feels like there's a bit more she's not telling him, but he concedes that he hasn't been interested enough all summer to ask her to go into greater detail. Malfoy just wants to talk to him, Hermione says, he wants to apologize to Harry. In person.

Harry scrubs his face and says it's going to take more than just dinner and an apology for him to forgive Malfoy, because he will never forget. His face heats and he feels the need to tell Hermione that he didn't mean for his sentence to sound _like that_ , and they have a laugh. She apologizes for not telling him about Malfoy.

There are things he desperately wants to forget sometimes.

Harry agrees to at least have dinner and listen to what Malfoy has to say. Hermione doesn't plead with Harry, but it's a near thing. They aren't best mates, Hermione and Malfoy are just friends, but she's earnest and well, he trusts her judgment. Plus he believes in second chances. Hermione reaches up a bit on her toes and pulls him into a hug. He takes a fortifying breath, squeezing her lightly. Hermione _Finites_ the privacy charm, and they both head back inside the restaurant.

Malfoy looks up anxiously as they approach the table. He's not looking at Hermione, who is sliding into the booth next to him, the corner of her lip quirked upwards in a half smile. His grey eyes are pinned on Harry, his gaze doesn't sweep down Harry's clothes or calculates his posture. Malfoy is watching his face and Harry feels a little exposed. Suddenly he feels underdressed for dinner, he sort of wishes he knew if the clothes he is wearing are all originally his. He wants to know if he looks as awful as he feels. Hermione hasn't commented on it yet, so he thinks not.

Harry is wearing a pair of dark jeans which fit a bit loosely these days, a black shirt and an open hooded jacket. His wardrobe is a mix of Dudley's old things Harry hasn't gotten around to burning and miscellaneous things he's bought himself or received as gifts over the years. He didn't really have time to go shopping in the past year. For the second time, Harry makes a note to himself to go shopping soon. He sits down in the chair nearest to Hermione, directly across from Malfoy. He fights the urge to chew on the inside of his cheek and nods politely to Malfoy.

Hermione pours him wine and Harry takes a small sip. Hermione casually touches Malfoy as they go over the menu briefly (she knows what Harry prefers), before she asks him what he's been up to lately. Harry spreads butter on a warm bread roll and tells them about his shopping trip at Flourish and Blotts. He remembers checking out the handsome wizard, so he skips over _that part_ but Harry knows he's blushing fiercely. He isn't comfortable discussing it with Malfoy around. Before Hermione can ask him about it, he stumbles forwards over his words as he recounts going to the apothecary to pick up sleeping potions. He pops a piece of bread into his mouth, mentioning that the potions didn't work out as he hoped and leaves it at that. Hermione suggests the potion wasn't brewed correctly, that maybe it was a bad batch. Harry makes a noncommittal noise, doesn't tell them he spent two days chasing sleep while locked in his bedroom, and is saved by the waiter who comes to take their order. They usually eat family style when possible, and tonight is not any different.

Hermione mentions that she has to go shopping for supplies, and Harry tells her he can't accompany her. His new furniture is being delivered soon, and since he doesn't remember what day exactly, should probably stay home. She doesn't press him, and instead talks about Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and classes she plans on taking.

She includes Malfoy in the conversation, and Harry never imagined Malfoy speaking so quietly. Gone is the sneer and tone of dislike Harry has come to expect. Harry only plans on taking five classes and tells them so. It sounds like she and Malfoy will take the same electives, and she is quick to suggest the three of them should study together. Harry wishes Hermione could have provided him with a laundry list of 'Ways She Plans To Surprise Harry'. He likes to be prepared, and feels like his best friend has been taken away from him.

By the time dessert comes, Draco and Hermione have moved on to talk about the Triwizard tournament this year. Harry has stopped trying to convince himself that he is not the third wheel. He knows he's the odd man out, and now that he's spent the entirety of dinner thinking about it, Harry is convinced he shouldn't have come. Hermione and her new friend would have had a perfect outing without him. He lifts another spoonful of custard to his lips as he considers how to best steer the conversation. He hasn't been listening, so he settles on being blunt.

"So…What did you want to talk about?" Harry bites out, most likely interrupting them but not caring. He just wants to get this over with.

Hermione hears the edge in his voice, he knows this in the way she tilts her head. Harry feels Hermione's familiar magic settle over him when she casts a mild privacy charm over their corner of the restaurant. He can feel her eyes on him, but he's watching Malfoy.

"Everything." Malfoy says as he puts down his spoon, leaving his tiramisu half eaten. "I wish to talk about everything." He can see that Malfoy is suddenly nervous, but Harry ignores it.

"I don't think there's enough hours in the day for that."

Malfoy sits up straighter in his seat, his posture no longer friendly and lounging. Harry knows he told Hermione he would listen to Malfoy today. He feels Malfoy's eyes on him from across the table and he wants to keep his word to Hermione. But Harry's stomach is churning and he can't meet Malfoy's eyes anymore.

"Really, Potter?" Malfoy says dryly.

"Right." Harry closes his mouth with a clack and trudges onward. "Well, how about you just start?"

"I've been helping at Hogwarts, I'm sure you've heard." It comes out like a question. Harry doesn't acknowledge it, because his chest is starting to clench at the mention of Hogwarts. "I want to make amends with- with everyone I can. The people I've hurt."

"And you think just apologizing is going to fix it?" His voice is rough, but he can't help it. He believes in second chances, he really does, but Harry is feeling insecure about his friendships and this irritates him. "Just forgive and forget?"

"Of course not. I know it would take time, but I was rather hoping - "

"People have died because of you."

"Draco is only trying to apologize!" Hermione chastises. "Just - "

"Yeah? Well _Draco_ can shove the apology up his - "

"HARRY!" She hisses, reminding him that they're in public. In a muggle restaurant.

Harry grips the edge of the table, trying to calm himself. "He doesn't even know me, Hermione."

"Then get to know each other."

As if it could be that simple.

"You want us to get to know each other? Like how you two have gotten to know each other?" Harry's face twists into a grimace, he regrets saying the words as soon as they leave his lips. He can't take them back.

"Harry-"

"Don't let me get between you two, best mates now and all." He shoves to his feet, gesturing between the pair of them. "Have a nice evening." Harry tosses more than enough muggle notes on the tablecloth to cover the bill.

His shoulders are heavy as he bolts from the restaurant. When the tight feeling of Apparition sucks out the last of his dignity, he can barely breathe.

So much for second chances.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring:  
> +Harry and Malfoy have a chat.

**September 1998 - Continued**

Harry groans, rolling over onto his back. He can feel the sunshine behind his eyelids and resists the urge to open them. He wears only a pair of pants, and is partially covered by the bed sheet as tries to chase after his latest dream, searching his mind for the fading sensations. He is plagued by his usual nightmares, but the last dream he had before he woke up was interesting to say the least.

He thinks he remembers hot, pliant lips and an aching sweetness that spreads from his groin down to his toes, but he can't be sure. Sighing, he gives up and presses a palm against the hardness between his legs. Aroused, he follows the feeling as it climbs higher and higher. He gasps at the delicious friction, lips parted and breathless. A pair of molten grey eyes meet his when he reaches the peak, his hips arch and Harry lets out a satisfied moan. It's all in his mind but it feels as real as the cooling wetness in his hand.

An abrupt knock at the front door jolts him and he swears loudly as he trips over the blankets he pushed off the bed during the night. A glass of water and bottle of sleeping pills are knocked off his nightstand and he can't be bothered to clean up the mess right now. He can faintly hear Kreacher when the elf answers the door, making him realize he's slept in much later than normal. Harry is scrambling to make himself presentable before he makes a brief appearance downstairs. When he does, Harry's face is still flushed and splotchy, his clothes are clean but a bit wrinkled as he directs the delivery men to the proper rooms to place the furniture. Harry forgets about the silvery eyes as he focuses on the task at hand.

The delivery men are burly and make squeezing tables, armoires and bedroom sets, couches and the like through the front door look easy. It takes plenty of wiggling, maneuvering, squatting and bending, but with Harry's supervision, they fill each room with the proper men are quite fit, and Harry finds his gaze lingering on their shoulders and arses for longer than polite before he catches himself. Several times.

When he questions why they don't simply shrink the furniture down to miniature size to make delivery easier, Harry receives a ten minute lesson about that isn't the proper way to handle high quality furniture. After two minutes, Harry is nodding along at all the right places and thinking about what nice hands the man has.

He is both relieved and disappointed when the delivery men leave. After a quick change of clothes, Harry steps out of Number Twelve for a late run.

There's more people out and about today. Since Harry usually exercises in the early mornings, passing this many people is a change for him. He casts a Notice-Me-Not charm on himself and stretches before heading off in a slow trot.

Harry's regular route leads him to a nearby park. There is a small play structure, and lot of shaded areas. Small children are playing and wrestling together, dogs playing with their owners and some picnic tables are being used.

He's almost to the point where he turns around to head back to Grimmauld Place. Instead of the usual empty patch of grass, there is a gathering of some sort. As he gets closer, he sees the group more clearly, with their brightly colored mats and stretchy… his pace slows down to a stop and Harry is seriously questioning if the clothes both the women and few men are sporting are appropriate for public viewing. He's seen muggle exercise clothes before of course, Harry glances down at his own well worn sweat pants and loose tee, then looks back at the group, trying to not oogle because that would be inappropriate behavior but well, he has eyes doesn't he? And with the charm, no one takes a second glance at him.

He takes a moment to appreciate the sinuous curves of muscle and supple flesh, the stretchy fabric leaves nothing left to the imagination and Harry thinks you'd have to be daft not to take a moment out of your day to enjoy the sight. His gaze lingers on women before moving to the men, finding both genders pretty appealing. Unbidden, he hears Uncle Vernon's nasally voice in his mind, _look at those poofters holding hands, it's unnatural. _He scrubs his face and heads home, feeling guilty as he tries to shift his thoughts from sweaty bodies and hard lines to home redecorating. Where did he put those books?__

____

____

~ o ~ o ~

It doesn't surprise Harry to find Hermione sitting unannounced at his kitchen table, three Take Away boxes spread out in front of her. If he's being honest with himself, he expected her to come around sooner. His damp hair is tousled as always, smelling like fresh rain and cinnamon sticks, he is casually dressed in a soft shirt and sweats. Barefoot, he pads over to the empty place setting and slides into the seat.

At her raised eyebrow, he says simply, "Went on an extra run. Had a lot on my mind."

Hermione hums in reply, and skewers a tomato slice on her plate. They both know why she's here, but he's not willing to broach the topic. He wants to avoid it completely and hope it doesn't come up.

"I'm glad to see you out of the house." She says as she flicks a curl out of her eyes, then nudges the salad container in his direction.

He fills his plate with lightly dressed crisp greens, oregano, tomatoes, feta cheese and purple olives. There's stuffed grape leaves so he snatches one of the dolmas too. Managing to get one of everything in the salad on his fork, he takes the first bite; Harry's mouth is filled with the taste of sunshine and summer.

"I have mentioned that I exercise." He replies primly.

"You can't stay locked inside all the time, Harry. You'll go mad."

His stomach tightens as thinks about how he should be helping at Hogwarts. He's not really ready to venture out more often. "I have visits with Teddy and I meet up with you and Ron. That's good enough for me right now."

It's safe and warm inside Number Twelve. There aren't reporters, crazy and not so crazy fans, and small children. No one is hunting him, trying to be next Dark Lord. No one asks him for interviews and autographs, no one to suffocate him with their fawning. Inside the old townhouse, he's just Harry.

"I'm going to Hogwarts," he reminds her, as if it's some big social event.

She snorts and changes the subject. "I saw the sleeping pills on your nightstand when I came looking for you earlier. Did you try sleeping potions?"

"Yeah I did, and they were a terrible idea." Harry cringes at the memory.

Hermione sighs in commiseration. "You could try Dreamless Sleep."

He lifts a shoulder, "I'll ask Pomfrey. The sleeping pills are okay for now." At her concerned look, he continues, "I'm just taking a single dose. No more than that. It takes helps me relax enough to sleep, and doesn't keep me asleep." _Doesn't keep me trapped._

Her eyes roam his face for a moment before she nods, letting it go. "Are you coming to the reopening ceremony? McGonagall wants you to attend."

He pulls a face, thinking back to the invitation he received. "D'you think I can get away with not going? I wasn't part of the rebuilding process, so I won't have much to contribute."

"It'll be a good show of support."

"Hermione, I'm already going back to Hogwarts in the autumn, what more would it do if I went to the ceremony? McGonagall probably would want me to prepare a speech."

She's gotten Harry a lamb burger on a sourdough bun with everything on it and a side of chips. He groans in contentment when he takes a bite.

"It wouldn't be that bad,"

"Hmm. Remind me what the date set for, so I know when to schedule a portkey to Romania?"

Hermione laughs. "You really don't want to go, then?"

"Really."

"Alright," Hermione scrunches her nose. "I suppose I'll let McGonagall know you're indisposed."

"You're the best." He grins, putting down his burger and reaches for chips.

She tucks into her own beef and lamb gyro with a roll of her eyes.

"I was thinking of having a small get together at the Three Broomsticks for my birthday."

He looks up from his burger, it's now open faced with chips stacked on top. Harry closes the burger with the top bun as she continues.

"I've invited everyone: Neville, Hannah, the Weasleys, Luna, Draco, Dean, Seamus-"

"Oh,"

"Oh?"

Harry knows it's not his place to be mad or upset. He was the one who left their dinner prematurely. He was the one who said he'd listen to Malfoy and then didn't. His chest tightens a bit as the scene plays in his head.

"Is he going? Malfoy?"

"I'm not sure." Hermione says, wiping away a bit of sauce from the corner of her lip with a napkin. "I get the feeling that he would try to politely decline, if he knew you were going and wouldn't want to make things awkward."

Merlin, they sound like lovers going through a bad break up. The thought brings the image of two wizards kissing in his mind, and it isn't difficult for Harry to figure out who was who. It doesn't help that he's not disgusted with what he sees. He's not sure how he feels about it.

"So," he draws out the word to hide his sudden discomfort. "are you asking me if he can go? Hermione, it's your birthday. You're the person who gets to decide those things."

"I'm asking you to talk to him. You don't have to forgive him or accept his apology. I'm sure you have so much to talk about, it would take more than one sitting to go over everything." she pauses. "It's a step towards recovery. It will benefit the both of you."

Harry is quiet for a moment as he mulls this over. He's lost his appetite but continues to eat anyway, chewing slowly.

"I don't think I can forgive him. Not after… Everything."

"I've forgiven him," she says quietly.

He pulls a face. "I don't understand how you could." It's a reasonable statement but it sounds petulant somehow, along with the way his shoulders hunch.

"He was young... We all were. Draco wasn't the only one who did unforgivable things, Harry."

He sits there chewing quietly as she says, "Think about it, please? I'm not asking you to be friends all of a sudden. I want for us all to get… Better. For me?"

Harry sighs, and sets down the remaining half of his burger with a grimace, before fixing his green eyes on her. His gaze is a mix between exasperation and fondness, he can't find it in himself to be properly annoyed. He still feels bad about what happened yesterday and Hermione knows she doesn't have to reprimand him anymore. She's leaning forward a bit with a hopeful smile, probably sitting on the edge of her seat. They both know he will go through with it.

"I could bring Draco here, this week maybe? If that's more comfortable for you. You don't have to come to Hogwarts yet." He's glad Hermione knows him so well.

"When's the soonest you both are free?"

"Today," at his flat look, she amends, "tomorrow."

"That'd be better. I don't care that the furniture isn't completely set up but…"

"You want to think it over a bit." Hermione finishes her sandwich and wipes her hands on her napkin. The grin she sends his way is mischievous, and Harry knows she's set the topic aside for now. "So, tell me. Did Andrew-the-salesman _deliver_ everything? When did the furniture arrive? When are you meeting him next?"

"Erm, no, yesterday and I'm not sure?" Harry blushes.

~ o ~ o ~

After Hermione leaves in the evening Harry is restless. Since he doesn't really want to think about his sexuality, Draco Malfoy, redemption or anything else, Harry sets himself to work, responding to the last bit of letters. Harry doesn't know what he thinks about Malfoy, so he decides to not think about him for now. He finally crawls into bed past midnight, after he swallows down a single dose of sleeping pills.

The next morning, Harry doesn't want to admit to himself but he is nervous about the meeting. He is disappointed to find that running doesn't take the edge off.

After cleaning himself up for the day - light wash jeans and a black long sleeved thermal - he slips on his bright orange and fuzzy slippers, rolling his sleeves up. He opens one of the home redecorating books and sets about changing the colors of the walls in the entire downstairs and basement kitchen. He's finished with the walls in Regulus' old room and is currently working in Sirius' old room, rearranging the furniture. Harry is arranging the pieces for the fourth time when he feels Hermione and Malfoy cross his wards. He tilts his head, wondering why they didn't take the Floo. The knock on the front door echos quietly throughout the house. Harry pauses only briefly before turning his attention back to the floating armoire while Kreacher answers the door.

Number Twelve is mostly quiet, until he hears the clatter of the new umbrella stand against the floor and the tell tale shrieks of Walburga Black. The portrait only has time to screech, "FILTH! SCUM! STAIN ON -" before Hermione closes the curtains, silencing portrait again. It's a few long minutes before Harry hears their footsteps enter the bedroom.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione sounds breathless.

He floats the side table over to the left of the bed. "Like what I've done with the place?"

"We took a look around downstairs, and it's lovely."

Harry turns around, pocketing his wand and forces out a half smile. "Thanks, Hermione. Regulus' room is finished, I think. I gave Kreacher his things." He looks around the room and gestures at the faded photographs and muggle posters. "The rest of the house is a work in progress. If you figure out how to remove Permanent Sticking charms, let me know."

Both Hermione and Malfoy are dressed in muggle attire: jeans, jumper and scarf, and trainers (except Malfoy, who is wearing dragon hide boots). The jeans do nothing but encourage Harry to appreciate Malfoy's slim figure. He turns his attention to Hermione instead.

"Harry, they're _permanent._ " Hermione smiles fondly at him.

He grins wickedly and rolls his eyes, missing the way Malfoy's gaze snaps away from the posters to watch his face. "I know they are." Harry concedes, attention still on Hermione. "But, I'm taking down Mrs. Black's portrait the next time I'm in a mood."

Both Hermione and Draco follow Harry out of the room and down the stairs. He pokes his head inside the coat closet nearest to the front door, rummaging a bit before Harry emerges again with a very large sledgehammer. Hermione's hand flies to her mouth as she cracks up.

"Harry James Potter! You aren't serious?"

"I'm serious, Hermione." He says solemnly.

"Are not."

"Are too." He answers smugly.

Hermione scrubs at her face, relaxing her cheeks and chasing away the last of her giggles. "What if that wall is supporting," she waves to the ceiling, where the wall and next floor join. "Something?"

Harry rolls his eyes again. "Magic, Hermione. Magic. It's not like this place is held together by spit and happy thoughts."

He puts the sledgehammer away, and at Malfoy's politely inquiring look, Harry answers him with a blinding grin. "Mrs. Black's portrait, the one that screamed at you earlier, is stuck up on the wall with a Permanent Sticking charm. I'm going to use that hammer, and smash her face and the wall to bits. The muggle way. I've already threatened her with it."

There's a brief moment where Harry believes that Malfoy will sneer, or possibly react in the way Harry expects him to.

Malfoy's eyes widen. "Really? The muggle way, you say? May I watch?"

Harry tilts his head, eyes bright with mischief. "Possibly. It'll be satisfying, to say the least."

Kreacher appears with a crack, bowing lowly to each of them. "Is Master being hungry soon?"

The light atmosphere dissipates at Kreacher's appearance, sobering the mood.

"Are you two hungry, or d'you want to talk first?" He directs the last question to Malfoy.

It shouldn't surprise Harry when Malfoy flicks his gaze to Hermione, but it does. Malfoy looks to her, and Hermione grins to him in encouragement. Reassured, Malfoy lifts his chin slightly, turning back to Harry with a small gesture.

"Let's speak first, and have lunch afterwards if you still want to."

Harry nods and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "All right. Let's go for a walk. You'll be fine for a bit, Hermione?"

"Of course, Harry. Stay together."

"Right." Harry says. "We'll be back later Kreacher, take care of Hermione."

He dives into the closet again, pulling on a hooded jumper, trades his Chudley Cannons slippers for trainers, and leads Malfoy outside. The sun peeks out at them from behind a few clouds, providing little warmth in the brisk afternoon.

Malfoy walks next to Harry and seems comfortable to let him lead the way. Harry stuffs his hands into the front pouch of his jumper, his pace steady down the sidewalk. A breeze stirs the air as the pair stroll pass other buildings, the smell of sandalwood and lavender fills Harry's head. Beside him, Malfoy clears his throat.

"I don't know where to start."

To be honest, Harry doesn't know either. "Start in the middle or the end, if you want. Or the beginning."

Malfoy crosses his arms, then uncrosses them, and then repeats as if he cannot decide what to do with them. The next part rushes out in a single, hurried breath. "I'd like to start off and say I'm terribly sorry for the way I treated you over the years."

Something in his chest twinges at Malfoy's words, he sounds nervous, and Harry is both frustrated and mad.

"Choosing to begin at the end? Makes for a short conversation, doesn't it?"

"Potter, are you being an arse on purpose?"

"You've been practicing all summer, Malfoy. Shouldn't be too hard for you to string two words together." Harry bites out.

"Would you shut up and listen? Please?"

_Please._

His teeth clack together and Harry inhales deeply before replying. "I'm listening."

"I was an arsehole. A bigoted arsehole." Malfoy says firmly, as though his nerves are gone. "I said some things that I'm sorry to say, I meant at the time. I spread rumors about you, scared you and called you names for fun. I was jealous and spiteful. I'm sorry I did those things.

"I didn't consider that my parents could be wrong about anything. I love my parents. Salazar, I agreed with them and didn't question what I was told. Or taught. You are either a Malfoy or you're not. Things were just that way. The right way."

Harry presses his lips together, words silenced by Malfoy's steely gaze.

Malfoy continues. "Were there any people in your life, who you held in high esteem and took their word at face value? Or even people you didn't like, didn't care about, but couldn't help believing the things they said?"

In no particular order, Dumbledore, Remus, Sirius, Snape, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon came to the forefront of his mind.

"Yes. But I still made my own decisions." Harry makes an effort to keep his tone neutral as he turns to lead them to the park he frequents.

"Did you make your own decisions?"

They both know the question is like a barrel full of doxies.

"Are we talking about me now?"

Harry is baiting him and Malfoy knows it. Harry moves his hands to the pockets of his jeans for something to do.

Malfoy doesn't answer him, but continues on. "As we grew older, not only was I still jealous of you but I also had the Malfoy name to uphold. Perfect Potter, with your perfect friends and perfect life. Youngest seeker of the century. Automatically respected just by your name. You couldn't do any wrong.

"You had all the things I wanted. I wasn't good enough. I couldn't even be at the top of the class, Granger won that spot six years in a row."

"Do you give everyone the same speech?"

"Of course not. Each situation is different." Malfoy raises an eyebrow.

"So,what you're saying is I'm receiving a special one? Did you practice it in the mirror before coming over today?"

"Potter,"

Harry gives him a sidelong look before he spots an empty bench. He sits and Malfoy does the same, not looking the least bit uncomfortable in the muggle park. The play structure is to the left and open grassy patches are up ahead, but this bench is away from the shade of trees and looks slightly warmed by the sun.

He doesn't know what he wants to hear. What he wants Malfoy to say. Doesn't know what he thinks about what Malfoy is saying. Has said. Except it's hard for him to hear any of it at all. Harry leans his forearms against his knees as he listens to Malfoy.

"What did I have? I had gold, connections, parents who loved me, and later, I had the Malfoy name to carry on. As a Malfoy I was taught that it meant I was entitled to everything beneficial to me and anyone who didn't benefit me could bugger off."

"You didn't have to go along with them blindly! You could have made different choices."

Harry sits back against the hard bench, watching Malfoy. His voice sounds deeper now, though his aristocratic cadences are still clear. It does strange things in his stomach which Harry resolutely ignores. He wants to stay frustrated and angry.

"Potter, I admit I believed everything my parents taught me as a child. I didn't question them." Malfoy's cheeks are stained in pink, either from the chill in the air or emotion. "But by the time the Dark Lord moved into my home, it was too late. We were in too deep and had to go along with things as they came. You cannot control the actions of others. I'm not saying that the things I did were right. I'm telling you, that although you think I had a choice, _I felt like I didn't have a choice_ \- but I assure you, that didn't mean I agreed with my father's actions.

"It sounded like you agreed with him wholeheartedly while we were in school."

"I love my parents, they're my family and I would do anything to secure their safety. I had everything I could want but my life was still shite. Family was the only thing I could hold onto when everything was most grim. You know I had to do what I could to protect them."

Malfoy angles his body towards Harry, gesturing with pale fingers as he continues. "Being a death eater was nothing like the stories my father told me. He thought we were high above everyone, but it only meant it hurt more when you fell. There wasn't just the violence, Potter. There was fear. I… I was forced to do things out of fear for my life and my parent's lives. I'm a Malfoy, and we are proud and unafraid. I was afraid then and I'm scared now."

His voice is muted, and one hand has found its way into a trouser pocket. Malfoy fidgets, his knuckles move underneath the fabric. "Potter, you don't have to forgive me. I'm not asking you for your forgiveness. Of course I want it, but what I'm asking you for a second chance and for you to accept my apology. I'm still afraid, but I want to be a good man. I'm sorry for the hurt I caused."

Harry watches the lines of Malfoy's jaw work. His eyes roam across long lips, and high cheekbones before settling on molten grey eyes. He looks and thinks that this is just one of many future discussions. They have a great deal more to say, before they can truly make amends. Malfoy wants to make peace, and Harry finds that he wants peace too.

"I don't think I can forgive you right now." He ignores the hurt that flickers in Malfoy's gaze. "Hermione got to know you over the summer, and I didn't. She's capable of making her own decisions."

"Are you saying you don't really believe in what you said at my trial? That it was -"

"But, I'll accept your apology, Malfoy." Harry offers his hand. "Here's to second chances. And friendship?"

Malfoy's hand is dry but his fingers feel chilled as they slide across Harry's palm. Their hands grip each other firmly, steadily.

"To peace." Malfoy nods jerkily.

At Malfoy's hopeful expression, the corner of Harry's lip lifts in a small lopsided smile. "It's not easy to just put aside everything, you know? I'll let you know when you're forgiven."

It's a start of new beginnings, and Harry feels a bit lighter. Maybe Hermione was onto something after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring:  
> +Harry and Ginny have a chat.

**September 1998 - Continued**

The Three Broomsticks is bustling when Harry stumbles out of the Floo. He only has time to sniff the sweet scents of ale and the savory warmth of mince meat pies before he gets a face full of cinnamon curls. He sputters and spits out a few hairs, simultaneously pushing away Hermione's mane with one hand while giving her a one armed hug. She pulls back and dimples at him.

"You came!"

"Of course I did." Grinning, Harry holds up his bag of gifts. "Happy birthday, Hermione."

She laughs, delighted. Hermione accepts the bag while Harry dusts the ashes off his front. "Thank you."

"You weren't waiting for me, were you?"

"No! I was just on my way back from the loo. Come on, the party's over here."

Taking his hand, she pulls him around other people and pushes open the door to their private room. She collects his traveling cloak and then lets him loose while she goes talk to Hannah. Harry makes his way over to Neville who is chatting with Dean and Seamus.

"Hiya, Harry." Dean greets him with a hug and a thump on the back. The others embrace him similarly.

Harry arranges himself between the group and the door, keeping the exit in his line of sight. With hands in his pockets, he asks after Luna.

"Still traveling with her dad," Neville replies. "Her last letter said she'd be back in time for the start of term."

"What have you been up to, mate? Haven't seen you up at the castle all summer." Dean asks.

Harry shrugs, hoping the gesture looks casual. "Remodeling my house. I inherited it from Sirius, and it was a bit of a wreck."

"I can believe it," Neville snorts.

"Invite us over for a housewarming party when you're done with the remodeling." Seamus grins.

"Definitely."

"Harry!" Ginny enters and is followed by Parkinson, Malfoy and Susan.

Ginny wraps him in a hug, while the others disperse to mingle with McGonagall and Flitwick, and the trio of boys. She tugs him gently a little away from everyone else.

He scratches the back of his neck and tries to look politely interested. "Hi."

"How have you been? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

Harry smiles blandly at her; she's right of course. When you feel so much for someone as much as Ginny does, a few days apart can feel like a lifetime. Last Sunday's dinner at the Burrow didn't seem like too long ago to Harry.

"I'm good," he answers automatically, though he's sure he can't be that far off today. It is Hermione's birthday after all, and he's in the mood to celebrate along with everyone else.

"I'm really glad to hear that you're doing better, Harry. Listen, I wanted to talk with you later. If that's okay?" She slips an arm casually through his.

"Sure, Gin." He knows she wants to discuss their relationship, and he's not looking forward to it. Harry searches around, trying to find something to safer to talk about. "Is George coming?"

"No." she sighs, leaning into him so close Harry can smell her vanilla scented shampoo. "I tried to coax him out, but he isn't ready to socialize yet."

He and George could be soul mates. "Mhm."

Ginny's eyes cast around the room, lingering on the Slytherins before she turns back to Harry. Her smile is a little brighter and Harry can see the tight lines in the corners of her lips. As much as he doesn't want to mingle with people, he definitely wants to avoid Ginny more. Guilt settles on his shoulders, causing them slump a bit.

"It's good seeing you Gin. I'll go catch up with Susan, and talk with you later, yeah?"

Parkinson is currently laughing with Susan, her hand on the other girl's arm. Malfoy stands out next to Parkinson, his distinctive hair glows in contrast to her dark locks. His stance is relaxed as he bumps shoulders with Parkinson, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. Harry turns his attention to Ginny, and misses Parkinson's smirk she tosses his way. Ginny tightens her grip on Harry's arm, digging her fingers into the soft fabric of his jumper, and pecks him on the cheek before he's able to make a get away.

"Of course."

Ron bursts through the doorway before Harry makes it halfway across the room, bearing a gift wrapped in rumpled glittery paper. His blue eyes go comically wide as he takes in the guests spread around the room. The decorations are simple in contrast to the complex guest list - brightly colored ribbon hangs from the ceiling, clusters of balloons, and a large birthday cake sits next to a pile of wrapped presents. There's a table set with finger foods and drinks.

Harry's legs covers the last couple strides, nodding to Malfoy first, to show that he's serious about their tentative friendship, and then to Susan and Parkinson. The Slytherins have straightened their spines, and set their shoulders at Ron's appearance. If Harry hadn't seen the casual way they interacted with Susan just moments before, he would've thought them incapable. Malfoy's hands are still in his trouser pockets, though the lines of his body are tense. Harry wouldn't blame him if Malfoy had his wand in his grip.

"Bloody hell! Hermione, I know you said you were chummy with the Slytherins but I didn't think you'd really invite them."

Conversations around the room quiet down, though Harry can hear Neville and Dean whispering from their seats at the table with Seamus. Condensation drips down the side of their butterbeer bottles, marking the table with wet rings. Neville and Dean are sitting close together, shoulders touching and Harry wonders if they're _together_ and why he didn't notice before. Busy defeating Voldemort, he supposes. Refocusing back on Ron, Harry automatically pushes his hands into the pockets of his jumper and he fingers the handle of his wand.

"It's my birthday, Ronald. I can invite whomever I want." Hermione snaps, narrowing her eyes at him. "Now are you coming in, or are you leaving?"

"What?! Of course I'm coming in." Ron steps fully into the room with a wave of his hand. Harry can breathe again. "I was just saying, is all."

The shift in the room is palpable. Conversations start up again, growing in volume from murmurs to loud guffaws.

"That wasn't rude," Parkinson remarks.

"I'm sure Hermione will talk with him." Harry winces internally at the thought.

Malfoy sniffs. "She'd better."

"Darling, won't you reconsider entering the tournament?" Parkinson asks Malfoy, picking up the thread of their interrupted conversation.

"The Tri-wizard tournament?" Harry lifts a surprised eyebrow at Malfoy, who shrugs as if possibly competing in potentially fatal tasks isn't a big deal.

"I've already made up my mind, Pansy. There's no guarantee that I'll be chosen as a competitor. Besides, there won't be any harm in at least submitting my name."

"I think it's very brave of you to do that, Draco." Susan says, causing Malfoy's cheeks to color slightly. "If that's what you want to do."

"I want to, I assure you."

Susan goes on, "We'll help you any way we can. Right, Harry?"

Harry is surprised to be singled out, and he wants to know how much Malfoy told them about their budding friendship. "Yeah, of course."

After everyone has had their cake, Hermione is ushered to the pile of gifts. She is thrilled when she opens them, and seems especially emotional about the soft jumper Pansy has given her. Harry knows she wants her old life with her parents back, but he can't give that to her. Sometimes Harry wishes he could reverse time.

~ o ~ o ~

"Harry, can we talk before you go?"

A voice calls out, catching him as he finishes hugging Hermione goodbye.

It's the conversation he's been avoiding, coming to claim him.

"Sure, Gin."

Harry's stomach is swirling but has no choice but to face this. They step outside, Harry is fastening his cloak around his shoulders, and the pair moves to stand close to a nearby alley. He takes a deep breath tasting the September chill and lingering cigarette smoke on his tongue.

"Er - Ginny, I -"

"Harry, let me say this. You've been avoiding me, we both know it."

 _Well, she's not wrong,_ Harry concedes. He nods at her to continue.

"I don't know about anything right now. Nothing makes sense anymore. All I do know is that my feelings for you haven't changed. It's the only thing in this mess of year that happened that seems to be still intact."

Harry crosses his arms, gripping tightly onto the one thing that he can reach. The breeze brings another waft of cigarette smoke and his nostrils itch.

"The way I feel about you is the only thing that makes sense." She reaches out, placing a hand on his arm. He resists the urge to step back and disappear.

"Gin, I don't... I'm not really sure if that's best." He knows what she's asking. His fingers clench and his bones strain against taunt skin. "I told you not to wait for me."

"I know you said that - that I shouldn't wait for you. I did try not to. I was seeing someone..." Ginny says earnestly. "But I love you, Harry. Don't you think we should try? I think we owe each other that. To at least try."

He thinks about how he hasn't been present in his friends' lives for a majority of the summer, how he rarely visited with anyone. Harry only went to the Sunday dinners are the Burrow because he felt obliged to, and his only real social plans is dinner with Ron and Hermione. He hasn't gone up to help at Hogwarts like Ginny has, nor has he spent any time with her.

"I'm not... I wouldn't give you the attention you deserve to have."

"I don't need constant care and attention, Harry. I'm not a crup. I'm not going to be waiting around all the time for you to come around."

The way she says it, her tone, makes him feel like she did him a favor. Realistically, she probably doesn't sound that way at all, but Harry can't unwrap his mind around her words.

He interjects, "I told you not to wait around for me."

Her hand is gone, and the cold air is quick to wipe away the warm spot on his arm. "I have things I want to do. Finish school, take my N.E.W.T.s. Play quidditch."

She's quiet but her eyes are brightly lit. At one time, he would have loved to be part of this passion, to be her source of fire. To be proud that he was the cause of it. His throat is heavy as he realizes that it fills him with dread instead.

"I need someone who I know is going to love me. Someone who will be there for me when I need them."

"I don't know if I'm the one who can love you that way, Ginny. Not right now."

"I need you, Harry." Her voice hitches. They are both holding onto themselves, and he can feel her desire to reach for him even as he wants to end this conversation.

If there is one thing Harry is sure about, it's that Ginny doesn't need him. She is one of the most independent witches he's met. He shakes his head.

"You don't need me, Gin. You want someone who can care about you and support you. I can do that for you, because I already do those things for you. But you also want someone to love you, and my feelings for you don't run that deeply."

She whispers, "How could you say that? Why are you being this way?"

"I'm being honest with you. First you said you didn't wait for me, and that you were seeing someone else. Then you said you're not going to be waiting around for me forever, implying that if I don't take this chance, we'll miss a future together. I've said I don't want you waiting around for me.

"I know the war just ended, and you want someone to celebrate with and someone to mourn with, but I just want to work things out for myself. It's something I want to do alone."

"You're being cruel, Harry. Can't we talk about this later, when neither of us are upset?"

"I really don't think there is more to say about this."

Harry hunches his shoulders a bit and swallows the lump in his throat as her words cut through him the same way his hurt her. He doesn't apologize for his words. He finally takes a step back and Disapparates.

Ginny shivers in the cold, and then does the same a moment later.

In the alleyway, Pansy crushes her cigarette beneath her heel of her boot.

~ o ~ o ~

He is looking forward to going back to Hogwarts. It'll be good for him. That's what Harry tells himself.

A few days after Hermione's birthday, he is standing on the front porch steps of Number Twelve, thoughts of traveling further than London makes his feet stick to the ground. Other than Hermione's party, his weekly dinners with Ron and Hermione, Sunday dinners at the Burrow, occasional Floo to Andromeda's, the daily run and occasional outing to Diagon Alley, Harry hasn't left his home. Not really.

His heart is pounding but he doesn't want to turn back and go inside. He doesn't want the tightness in his throat to win, he doesn't want to run away. Harry takes a slow, deep breath and leaves Number Twelve. He shouldn't feel like he needs a reason to go out, but he still feels that way.

He walks to the nearest market and picks up another bottle of muggle sleeping pills. He doesn't need to replenish his supply yet, but at least he'll have them for his time at Hogwarts. The sleeping potions worked too well, so he doesn't use them. The sleeping pills take the edge off, help him fall asleep but aren't strong enough to keep him unconscious. He falls asleep easily, naturally, and later when his nightmares plague him, he's not trapped. Harry awakens in the night, but reality is hazy and he is groggy. It takes him a while to get his bearings, to know that he's no longer dreaming. He's able to go back to sleep, eventuality. The sleeping pills have become part of his routine.

When he gets back home, Kreacher has dinner ready.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 06- Co-written by Chiseplushie & Disillusionist9. (Love ya, D9).  
> Featuring:  
> +Harry finally goes to Hogwarts.  
> Tumblr: Chiseplushie & Disillusionist9

**October 1998 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

It feels odd to Harry to only pack the things he thinks he needs, rather than bringing everything he owns. He's dumped everything out from his trunk and then sorted everything into neat piles: to pack, not to pack, and maybe pack.

Harry is still in his pyjamas, sprawled out on his bedroom floor - _Sirius' old bedroom,_ his brain supplies helpfully - surrounded by his new textbooks, his clothes (which he still needs to update), and his other belongings. He crosses his legs and sighs, leaning to one side with his elbow propped up on top of his knee and cups his chin. The start of term is in a few days, and he really should pack.

He groans as he flops down on his side, curling his legs and feet inwards while his face lands just inches away from the stack of textbooks. The hardwood is cold against Harry's cheek and his glasses are digging into his temple, but he doesn't feel like moving. Laying here for the rest of the day would be acceptable to Harry; he doesn't want to do anything. He knows he should be preparing, he just doesn't have any interest in doing it. Or the energy.

He rolls onto his other side, and spots his moleskin pouch. Harry reaches out, the hem of his pyjama shirt rides up and a stripe of flesh is revealed. He ignores the way goosebumps bloom on his exposed skin, and focuses on the soft and familiar texture of the fabric against the pads of his fingers. It takes him a few moments to pry the bag open before Harry can reach inside and pull out his invisibility cloak. The fabric is cool to the touch, flowing like a steady river in his hands. Harry tosses the cloak over himself and hides inside the folds, curling into a ball. _Definitely going to pack the cloak, he thinks._

~ o ~ o ~

After some internal debate, Harry decides to just Apparate to Hogsmeade, rather than take the train. The people he would usually sit with are already at Hogwarts, and he doesn't really want to spend the day being gawked at as if he were inside a fishbowl. He is cautious, and manages the trip in two jumps.

The walk from Hogsmeade to the castle is quiet. Harry takes a deep, relaxing breath as he walks, his shoulders lift and his chest expands. Dirt and rocks crunch underneath his trainers, and Harry shoves his hands into the pockets of his soft leather jacket, fingers brushing against his wand and shrunken school trunk. The leather is old, and smells warmly like musk and sharply needles his nose in the way that only Sirius' scent could. Its well used cuffs of his sleeves lay reassuringly on top of his knuckles.

The open air is sweet on his tongue and leaves him feeling exposed. Guilt threads its way into the layers of his clothes, slithering underneath his skin. It flows in his blood, although Harry knows he was welcome to come back at any point in the summer. He should have helped. He should have done more. He didn't.

Harry is greeted by Deputy Headmaster Flitwick when he reaches the large double doors at the front of the school. Harry grins and congratulates the diminutive professor on his post, and is instructed to keep his belongings and school trunk on his person.

When he enters the Great Hall, he spots Hermione sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table nearest to the High table and makes his way over. A quick look around and he notices there isn't a separate table for the eighth years but the ones sitting with Hermione are those who have been at Hogwarts all summer.

Neville, Luna and Malfoy are talking quietly, while Hermione and Pansy are chatting across from them. He reminds himself that while he's been cooped up inside Number Twelve, the world has continued on. Ginny looks a little put off, but he doesn't hesitate to settle in the seat between the redhead and Hermione, who automatically stands up to hug him, her hand lingering on his leather clad shoulder. Susan, Hannah and Terry are seated several seats down from them, but their distance doesn't diminish their excitement as they greet him.

Everyone looks the same, but he can see the weariness in their eyes and the dark circles that mark their faces. It's what he sees the mirror every day. There are a few, Malfoy and Luna especially, who seem more muted and withdrawn than he remembers. He remembers the easy posture Malfoy had during Hermione's birthday party, compares it to how different he looks now, and wonders if he's not the only one worried out of his skull about the new school year. Not that he could really tell the difference with Luna, but if anything she seems more distant. He thinks it's safe to assume that she's forgiven Malfoy as he watches their murmured conversation.

Ginny informs him that nothing is the matter, thank you for the concern, but he doesn't believe her. He recognizes the flash in her eyes, plus her sarcasm is hard to miss. He wants to tell her that she can talk to him about anything. It's on the tip of his tongue but her tone makes him feel even more left out. Unimportant. Less. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't apologize for asking her about her troubles. He still thinks of her as a friend and worries that her anger is his fault.

It seems as though he arrived with little time to spare. He is glad because it means less social interaction. Groups of other students and fellow eighth years trail into the hall in waves. There is a little hiccup when several eighth years see his group and pointedly decide to sit at separate tables, rather than with Malfoy. Harry sees their barely concealed sneers and wrinkled noses. He sees the hesitation when they see both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy sitting just three seats away from each other. Malfoy either hasn't noticed or is doing a good job of ignoring them. This mildly bothers Harry, since he did speak at both Narcissa's and Malfoy's trials. Though he doesn't get the Prophet delivered, he knows the Malfoy's trials were featured. The fact that it bothers Harry, bothers him.

The small crop of first years arrive, and he wants to imagine that their class size is three time bigger. They are tiny, and as he meets their eyes, Harry tries to remember what it was like to be that young. They are quickly sorted into their Houses, and he wonders how much their House, their family, will affect them, if it would be anything similar to his first years at Hogwarts.

McGonagall voice is clear and firm as she goes through the announcements for this school year. Her voice doesn't sound as though she fought in the Final Battle. Slughorn is still on as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin. The Defense Against the Dark Arts post has been taken over by Professor Malina Athol, and Professor Bert Tobin will handle Transfiguration. Professor Vector is standing in as Head of Gryffindor. Flitwick is Deputy Headmaster.

The Forbidden Forest is forbidden. The banned items list has been updated and can be found on Filch's office door if anyone were so inclined. Students interested in trying out for the quidditch team will be informed via the notice board in their common rooms or can contact their quidditch captain directly.

The Eighth year dormitory is located in the Third-Floor corridor. It is perfectly safe and the door will only allow entry to the eighth year students. Harry snorts incredulously at "perfectly safe," and sends a questioning brow to Hermione. She whacks him good naturedly on the arm and mouths, "It's fine." McGonagall closes her speech by sternly advising all students and staff that there will be absolutely no tolerance for bullying of any kind. It is a serious matter which she will deal with personally.

When the feast appears, Harry swallows anxiously at the sight of so much food. He takes a fortifying breath and helps himself to a slice of treacle tart. Hermione smiles softly and gently reminds him to have a helping of "real food." There must be something showing on his face because she laces three of her fingers into his and continues eating left handed. Harry focuses on his dessert while Luna tells him about a bakery she found over the summer that had a lovely plum torte topped with custard. Ginny makes a displeased noise next to him. He ignores it and tighten his fingers around Hermione's.

He can feel their comradery, the easy way they talk to each other that comes with spending a quarter of a year together. They want to know what Harry has been up to all summer and though they include him in their conversation he can't help but feel like an outsider.

The feast ends and McGonagall announces that she will walk with the eighth years to their dormitory. They all wait for the Headmistress just outside the Great Hall. Hermione's presence comforts him, but he's not in the mood to talk as much as she does.

"Walk with us," Luna says as she loops her free arm around his.

She is already clutching Malfoy's left arm, he is standing tall but relaxed. They walk in tandem, with Luna sandwiched between them. She's humming while they walk and in between long notes, Luna compliments Harry on his jacket.

Harry just smiles tightly, "It was my godfather's," he answers and when the group arrives at the dormitory, Luna parts from them with a gentle squeeze on his arm.

He isn't sure what he expected. Entering the shared common room felt like walking into Trelawney's tower, without the overwhelming stench of patchouli and heady incense. Draped banners proudly display each House's colors, but no other divisive decorations filled the space. Muted blues mixing with soothing yellows and greens reminded him of nature, with pops of red around the room like the little flowers near Hagrid's hut in springtime.

McGonagall turns to face her small band of returning students, a warm and mothering smile on her face, the only traces of sadness showing in the tight pinch of her mouth and the crease of her brow. Harry can't stop himself before he wonders if her disappointment was related to his absence all summer.

"Welcome back," the Headmistress says. Her voice is a more familiar version of the one she used during the feast to address the whole school. "To all of you. I'd like to say I'm pleased to see your faces again, to get the chance to mentor you for another year, but under these circumstances it's a bittersweet joy. The staff and I have endeavored to make this as easy as possible for you all, but even with a smaller than expected first year class, we were not able to place you in your old Houses."

She takes a deep, fortifying breath, smoothing small flyaways from her hair back into her bun. "We've set this dormitory as a sanctuary for you, a way to build the unity that could have stopped some of the overwhelming influence the war had on us all. There aren't sections separated by House, merely boys' and girls' rooms on either end, the same as in your old common rooms. You will find there are four beds in each room, and no one is pre-assigned to any one room, that will be up to you."

McGonagall pauses again, and Harry feels a mist of anxiety falling over his mind as he tries not to look wildly throughout the room, forgetting in his worry which guys had returned to Hogwarts and who would he want to dorm with? He didn't spend a lot of time around other people in the last few months and he could feel the press of that isolation creeping up on him. When he feels Hermione's hand gently press against his, looping her pinky into his, he realizes he must have been drumming them against his thigh. Her warm and quiet comfort eases his panic enough for him to hear McGonagall again.

"I, and the rest of the staff, are here if you have any questions. I'm not going to discuss the Triwizard Tournament, however. That will have to wait until tomorrow in your first classes. We could be here all night if I were to entertain all of your inquiries." Everyone seemed to smile or giggle in Harry's direction at that comment and it took him a moment to realize they were reacting to Hermione sheepishly smiling and blushing. The normalcy of Hermione being recognized as the one who'd be at fault of asking lengthy questions _almost_ counterbalances the anxiety Harry still feels nagging him.

As the headmistress leaves the dorm, Harry gives Hermione a brief smile, mutters something about being tired, and makes his way towards the door marked for the male dorms. There aren't sweeping staircases to climb, just a line of doors on either side, enough to house many more students if necessary. He thinks he saw ten or maybe twelve eighth year guy students around the Great Hall but he couldn't be sure. Something draws him to the far left door, the furthest of the five doors from the main common room, so he follows his instinct and walks in. He is the first to come into this room and again takes the spot furthest from the door. His Auror training screams that this isn't the safest, he should always be closest to the exit, but Harry is inclined to do the opposite of that training, it makes his stomach hurt less.

In record time, he takes the luggage still in his pockets and returns it to the normal size, hastily setting up his sleeping area. A small _pop_ followed by a thunk happens as his back is turned. His trunk appears at the end of his bed, deposited by a house elf busy popping around the room to bring in more trunks. Harry notices one of them has Neville's initials embossed on the side just before the wizard himself walks into the room.

"Hey, Harry," Neville says, smiling as he walks over to clap Harry on the back gently. Harry returns the smile as best he can as Neville gestures to the trunks at the foot of the four beds. "House elves are a bit creepy how they just know things, huh? Ruddy useful, though."

Harry hums in agreement, quickly changing into his sleep pants and the first shirt he could find. He doesn't waste time before crawling into bed and pulling up the covers until he is completely cocooned.

~ o ~ o ~

_He slips and slides on the wet mulch, leaves squeaking beneath his worn trainers. It's dark and Harry squints through the fingerprints on his glasses as he runs. The moon watches him from above, through the empty spaces of twisted tree branches._

_Harry feels his lungs screaming in his chest, the way his heart beats in the back of his throat. His thighs ache as he presses the balls of his feet into the ground, propelling himself forwards. His toes catch on a tree root and he loses his balance. Harry gasps, arms flailing wide and he stumbles to his knees. He quickly glances behind him, trying to gauge how far he is from the monsters that are chasing him. The only sound he hears is his own shallow breathing. The only thing Harry sees are the clouds of white fear billowing from his lips._

_"There you are, Harry."_

_Harry's breath catches. He stands up quickly, the mud smeared on his trainers and denims make his movements clumsy. He looks into the face of Fred Weasley and is instantly filled with relief at the sight of a familiar face._

_"Fred! We have to get out of here. Something - something is coming."_

_Fred doesn't immediately start running away. He just tilts his head to the side. Harry urges him, "We have to go!"_

_There is something wrong. Wrong in the way they are standing there in the middle of the forest. Wrong in the way Fred is looking at him, clothes torn and covered with dust, bits of rubble and blood. Harry's skin prickles as his body cools down from the marathon he could still feel in his legs. Sweat trickles down the side of his face, drips down the small of his back. He wets his lips._

_"Fred? We can't stay here. It's dangerous."_

_Off to his left, Harry hears twigs snapping underfoot._

_Fred's voice is soft but it doesn't hide the accusation that is sewn into every word. "It's dangerous here? It's dangerous here! What a good joke, Harry." His laughter makes Harry's teeth vibrate. "You're willing to help me now, but you didn't do anything to help when I died."_

_A cold dread fills the pit in Harry's stomach. His eyes start to sting as he remembers._

_"Fred… You died from an explosion. We were thrown away by force of the blast. All of us were. There was nothing I could have done."_

_"You should have done something. You could have done something, Harry. Now George is alone."_

_Harry backs away, pressing himself into the base of a tree as if he could become part of the thick bark._

_"Fred, I -"_

_"There you are, Harry."_

_The muscles in Harry's neck strain when he turns towards the voices. Voices._

_He's looking into the faces of Remus and Tonks, as he remembered them in death. They stand side by side to Fred's right, Harry's left. Harry's heart and breath stutter, and he feels like he's been kicked in the stomach._

_"No. No. No."_

_"We died fighting for you. Now Teddy doesn't have parents. He's alone. An orphan like you."_

_"No. No! Stop! This isn't real."_

_This isn't real. It's just a nightmare. They are dead._

_Harry tries to wake up, even though everything about the dream seems so real. He can hear Fred, Remus and Tonks still talking to him, telling him that everything that happened is his fault and he should have done more to save them. Each word hits him in the stomach, and face -_

"Bloody, fuck. Potter, what the fuck is the matter with you?"

Harry sits up, gasping for life. The sheet slides away from his body, revealing his rumpled t-shirt and sleep pants. He blinks quickly, trying to discern the blurry world around him, skewed as the view is without the aid of his glasses. He snatches his frames from the bedside table, and the world is clear again.

Harry blinks at the sight of Draco Malfoy standing a few feet away from Harry's bed. Malfoy is holding the right side of his face with one hand and a pillow clutched in the other.

"You just punched me in the face, you berk!"

"Sorry," his voice is thick with sleep.

"You've probably given me a black eye now, and all you have to say for yourself is you're sorry?" Malfoy chucks the pillow at him - hard - and it hits Harry in the face with a whomp!

He sputters, "I was having a nightmare."

Malfoy turns away with a swish of his black robes. "Obviously or I wouldn't have tried to wake you, Potter."

Harry pushes the blankets aside and gets out of bed. He hisses, wiggling his toes as the cold floors of the castle immediately assault his bare feet. He pads over to Malfoy, crossing his arms to keep warm. Since there is no one else in the dorm room but the two of them, Harry assumes Malfoy had claimed one of the empty beds. Malfoy stands in front of a window, glaring at his reflection as he tends to his eye with gentle wand movements.

The nightmare is still fresh on his mine when Harry says quietly, "I really am sorry, Malfoy."

Their eyes meet in the glass, which is slowly fogging up from Malfoy's closeness. The condensation of the window fades the edges of Malfoy's pointy features, softening his face,

"It's fine, Potter. You couldn't have chosen a better day to pummel me." He turns away from the window, and faces Harry with a neutral expression. There is still a puffiness around Malfoy's eye that can be easily seen, though there is a slight shimmer in the way his skin moves in the light. "Since you punched me, you get to fetch me some bruise paste from Pomfrey. Spare the rest of us your woes and get yourself a dose of Dreamless Sleep while you're there as well."

Malfoy shoulders his bag, tucking his wand away as he walks past the remaining bed - Justin Finch-Fletchley's, Harry absentmindedly notes. He doesn't slam the door on his way out, but it's a near thing. Harry sighs, grabbing his bath kit and sets about getting ready for their first day of class.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Featuring:**  
>  +Hogwarts seems the same, but the people have changed.
> 
> Tumblr: Chiseplushie & Disillusionist9

Chapter 07  
October 1998 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry plops down at the end of the Hufflepuff table with a long, drawn out sigh. He turns and sends a mock glare at Hermione.

“I quit, Hermione.” he gripes. “This was a terrible, terrible idea. I'm going back to Grimmauld Place. Feel free to owl me loads of french pastries from Beauxbatons. You'll have to borrow a school owl since Cari is too small to carry packages. Don't tell her I said that.” Harry loudly whispers the last bit. 

“Without coconut?”

Crossing his arms on the empty plate in front of him, Harry lays his head down. He answers with a muffled voice, “Merlin, yes. Dried coconut is gross.” 

Harry cannot take one more day at Hogwarts. He can handle the classes and homework, but the adoring fans are murder. He can barely walk from one class to the next without being stopped multiple times by students asking for (and not receiving) autographs. They're such demanding little buggers. 

She prods his arm. “What about all the cute french girls and boys, hmm?”

He turns his head, ignoring the way the odd angle of his glasses skews his vision and pins her with a single green eye. “You can have them. All of them.” 

“Harry, the tournament is a great source of international --”

“-- Except the blokes.”

Hermione giggles and then coughs mid-sip as she tries to not spray her dinner with water.

“Hermione, I’m being serious.” he says solemnly as serves himself a chicken pot pie.

“You’re serious about what, Harry?” Luna lays her bag down next to her on the bench across from Harry, and begins to fill her plate. Her house tie is wrapped around her head, holding back her dirty blonde hair, the ends held together with a complicated looking knot.

“I asked Hermione to owl me pastries from Beauxbatons. You'll have to supervise and make sure she doesn't send me ones with dried coconut.”

“Oh, are you not coming with us? I'll miss you, since we won't have much time to spend together before we leave.”

Hermione pats her lips with a napkin, then sets down her water goblet. “Harry was telling me for the second time this month, that he’s having a rough week.” she explains, and then fixes her gaze on Harry. “You don’t usually quit, Harry. You can get through this.”

Luna nods in agreement while she butters a bread roll. “It always seems as though those who want the least attention are the ones who get it the most.”

“Yeah. Wait, who else are you talking about?” inquires Harry. He brushes his fringe out of his eyes.

“Draco, of course.” her eyes widen as if it was obvious. “He has had more than enough people paying attention him too. Though it’s not quite the same for him as it is for you and Hermione.”

Hermione frowns, her eyebrows creasing in thought. 

“He’ll be all right. Draco is strong.” Luna says earnestly. 

~ o ~ o ~

“There you go dear,” Pomfrey hands him a measured dose of Dreamless Sleep potion. 

Harry stows the small vial in the pocket of his jumper with a quiet, “Thank you.”

She smiles to him and lets him go, reminding Harry to come to her should he need anything. 

Harry's pace is brisk as he cuts through the castle and courtyard, trying to look as if he is late for a meeting with the Minister. Really though, he just wants to arrive at Hagrid’s as quickly as possible before the sun sets. 

There is smoking puffing merrily out of the chimney when Harry ambles up the front steps and knocks on the door with a heavy hand. The hut looks larger and new, the walls are built completely out of rows of stone. Bright yellow curtains embroidered with flowers cover the windows. The look is homey, and a quiet smile pulls at his lips. Behind the door, Fang is barking madly. 

Hagrid’s voice booms, “Back Fang! Back, yeh great brute.”

The door opens wide. A long and narrow shadow looms over him as Harry looks up. 

“Hello Hag -- Malfoy?” Harry chokes. “What are you doing here?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow, but steps back to allow Harry through. Behind Malfoy, Harry can see Hagrid holding onto Fang by the collar. 

“The same as you, I suspect.” He murmurs.

Inside, Hagrid’s home is the same as ever. There's a fire burning in the fireplace, a plate of rock cakes on the table, along with two mugs the size of mixing bowls. Hagrid releases Fang and Harry spends a few moments petting the boarhound. 

“Harry, good ter see yeh.” Hagrid greets him with a bone crushing hug. 

“I missed you too, Hagrid.” he sits down in the deep arm chair nearest to the door, noticing too late that it is next to where Malfoy is sitting. “I like what you've done with your home. It’s roomier.”

Hagrid pours tea into a new mug for Harry. The smile he sends is like the tea, filled to the brim with warmth, pleased by the compliment. “Thank yeh. Couldn't have dunnit withou’ Draco's help over the summer.”

Harry accepts the steaming mug, noticing the various flowers painted on the face of each mug for the first time. There's sunflowers on Hagrid’s, and pink tulips on Malfoy’s. If there are lilies painted on his mug, Harry is afraid he might cry in front of Malfoy. He doesn't think they are close enough in their tentative friendship for that at the moment. When he looks, Harry is relieved to see bright orange daisies. 

Fang settles his rump down between Harry and Malfoy, disrupting the coffee table and mugs with a small clatter before laying his heavy head against Malfoy’s right leg. Malfoy seems unconcerned by the growing wet spot on his denim covered knee. 

“How was yer summer, Harry? Didn’t see yeh around.”

Harry takes a sip of tea and burns his tongue. He barely manages to swallow the hot liquid. The tea’s slightly heady and bitter, quickly warming his belly though it does little to unravel the knot of guilt that's taken up residence there. 

His fingers tighten around the mug, the heat seeping in his hands. He tries not to grimace. “Er, sorry Hagrid. I was fixing up Grimmauld Place.” 

It sounds lame to his ears. Harry stops short, unable to think of something else to say. 

“It looks quite nice. Better than my memories of it from when I was a child.” Malfoy says. 

“Been there already, have yeh?” Hagrid’s beard twitches. 

“I accompanied Hermione on one of her outings, yes.” Malfoy sniffs, reaching over Fang’s head and places his mug on the table. He leans back into the cushions. 

Harry looks, but he can't find a trace of the sneer he's become so familiar with on Malfoy’s face. The sleeves of Malfoy’s black jumper are pushed up to his elbows, and the dark mark stands out against his pale skin, though the pigment looks faded. A gentle smile lifts a few years from his face when he scratches the soft fur in between Fang’s eyes.

Although he and Hermione study together with Malfoy regularly, the two of them don't really talk much. He's still getting used to having Malfoy around. 

Harry is surprised at how comfortable Malfoy is sitting here in Hagrid’s cabin. This is a new experience for him, different from Malfoy’s visit to Number Twelve and socializing with him at Hermione's party. 

“Were you able to complete the remodeling, Potter?” Malfoy looks up from the sleepy dog. 

Harry flushes when their eyes meet, unsure which he's more embarrassed about: staring at Malfoy or getting caught staring. 

“I'm about half finished setting up the rooms. I'll probably finish remodeling by next summer.”

“Don’t forget ter owl me once yer finished. I'll get yeh a proper housewarming gift.”

Harry finishes a draught of tea, carefully setting down his mug. The ceramic clinks dully on the table. He's touched by Hagrid’s kindness, but is a little weary about receiving ‘a proper housewarming gift.’

“Of course I'll owl you, Hagrid. You don't have to get me anything.”

Hagrid nods. “‘Course I will. Are yeh excited ter visit Beauxbatons? I wish I could come with yeh, but I have my classes.”

He pushes his frames up the bridge of his nose. “A bit, yeah. It'll be worth it if the students don't recognize me and leave me alone.”

“They'll surely recognize you. Everyone knows who you are.” 

Harry flops dejectedly into his cushions, wondering if he could just stay here for the rest of the school year. “Brilliant. Maybe if they just left me alone, then.”

“There's not much chance of that, I'm afraid.” Hagrid sends Harry an apologetic look. “Are yeh still set on entering the tournament then, Draco?”

He scoffs. “Salazar, _yes_ Hagrid.”

“It's dangerous,”

Malfoy gives Hagrid a dry look. Hagrid waves a massive hand. 

“I just don't want anyone else ter give yeh trouble is all.”

Harry sits up, both amused and a little appalled by Hagrid’s obvious concern. 

“I'm managing on my own.” A rosy tint colors Malfoy’s neck, causing his face to shimmer a bit. 

The inside of Hagrid’s home is the same, except now the space is larger to accommodate the company he keeps. 

~ o ~ o ~

Harry walks the castle corridors alone. 

Sometimes Hermione, Luna or Neville, or any combination of them join him. Other times when he is without company, he explores the lesser used corridors so it is easier to avoid people. 

He feels naked without the map but Harry doesn't think he could get too lost while poking around the Third floor corridor. Plus he’s under the cloak. Today is one of those days when he wants to be alone more than ever. 

October is halfway gone and with it, the desire to socialize. He's had more human contact in the last two weeks than he had all summer. He forgot how tiring it is be to be the Boy Who Lived. He idly wonders if he could persuade Pomfrey to give him a dose of Dreamless Sleep tonight but then dismisses it as a bad job. 

Harry thrusts his hands into his pockets as he walks, stopping to open closed doors to satisfy his curiosity. He's careful to keep the cloak closed. 

He pokes his head into the next classroom and almost dismisses it as empty and uninteresting. Just across the door, a tapestry depicting wizards and giants sharing a meal together hangs from a burnished rod. 

Harry tilts his head, pushing his frames up the bridge of his nose as his attention is turned to the object in the room. Pulling off the cloak, he checks over his leather clad shoulder and confirms he's still alone. He passes through the doorway, closing the door with a low thud. Harry's footsteps are shaky as he winds around desks and stacked chairs, making a slow journey to the far side of the room. 

The mirror is encased in a golden frame. Standing on clawed feet, the ornate mirror is as tall as Harry remembers it.

He pushes his fringe out of the way, expelling an anxious breath. He's not sure if this is a good idea -- looking into the mirror -- not sure if he's ready. Steeling himself, Harry steps up to his reflection anyway. 

First he sees himself as he currently is, in his leather jacket, scuffed trainers, sooty hair, green eyes and scar. Harry blinks and his reflection does too. Except now, Harry sees himself with skin that glows, and eyes are smiling bright with a deep happiness. His heart drops bit by bit as his parents appear, followed by more Potters, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, and Fred. The cloak slips through his fingers and pools on the floor. 

Harry drinks in the sight of them greedily and without shame. His eyes and nose are starting to sting. “I'm sorry I didn't do enough to save you.” he whispers. 

The Weasleys, Andromeda and Teddy, and Hermione gently push their way through the crowd. Everyone is young, happy and healthy. Sirius, Remus, George, Hermione and Ron are without their scars.

Harry’s vision is blurry when James puts a hand on his right shoulder. The glass is cool to the touch when he reaches out, his fingers spread flat on the surface.

Harry sniffles and removes his glasses to dry his wet cheeks. They all smile back at him.

~ o ~ o ~

Harry sits with his head down, reading his Transfiguration textbook. He rolls his shoulders tiredly, trying to relax the muscles that keep straining without thought. It's raining outside again, according to the ceiling. One arm is curled around the book, he keeps the page steady while his other hand idly twiddles the quill side to side. He hasn't told anyone about stumbling upon the mirror of erised the night before, but it doesn't stop him from thinking about it. Constantly. 

“Hermione,” Pansy pauses, appearing to be praying for patience. She pokes the heavily edited parchment with a manicured finger. “What you have here is essentially correct. However, considering that it reads like an even more dull version of _Advanced Transfiguration_ , instead of the latest articles from _Transfiguration Today_ , which are far more interesting by the way, leads me to believe your comprehension is lacking. Darling, you understand the _facts_ but…”

Harry tunes out Hermione and Pansy’s discussion again. After the weeks of studying together, calling Pansy by her name is now second nature. It also prevents her from screeching at him, which is an added benefit. 

They're holding today's study session at the end of the Gryffindor table. The banners have been put away, dinner having passed hours ago. 

Pansy, Hermione and Malfoy have books and parchment spread out on the tabletop, taking up more space than necessary but Harry knows it is to discourage students from approaching them. 

That doesn't prevent them from sneering at the two Slytherins from afar, or shooting Harry and Hermione curious looks. After the telling off the offending students received from Harry, Hermione, Neville _and_ Mcgonagall, it's a nice change from the loud insults and commentary they had been receiving since the beginning of term. 

“What, like it's hard?!” screeches Pansy, making both Harry and Malfoy flinch. 

They both look up from their reading, or essay in Malfoy’s case, matching looks of amused exasperation on their faces. Malfoy looks away first, his face coloring. It is late October, and Harry is grateful for the warming charms the staff cast to keep the chill out of the Great Hall. Both Malfoy and Pansy are wearing turtleneck sweaters so Harry can understand that he could be more than toasty. Hermione is leaning across the table towards Pansy, swimming in Harry's frayed Weasley jumper from three Christmases ago. 

Harry looks down at his wristwatch -- it is slightly dented from the last owner -- the well worn face tells Harry there's half an hour left before curfew, at least for the younger students. 

“Harry. Can we talk?” Ginny is standing behind Malfoy, eyeing Pansy suspiciously, before flicking her gaze back to Harry. 

“Hullo, Ginny.” he looks up, and flashes her a brief smile. “Sure.” 

Ginny rolls her shoulder, indicating that she wants to speak to him in private. Green eyes widen in understanding, and Harry rises to hurriedly put his things away. The mirror incident is still floating around in his head, and he fumbles his scrolls and books a few times before the items neatly pack themselves into his bag. He blinks in surprise. 

Malfoy rolls his eyes, tucking his wand away neatly. “Go on, Potter. I can't stand to watch your clumsiness for another minute.”

His lips twitch, showing a hint of dimples. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

He waves good-bye to the girls and follows Ginny out of the Great Hall. In the hallway, he stands near the wall, keeping the walkways and doorways in view, and casts a _Muffilato_ in their area. 

“What's on your mind, Gin?”

“Well, now that you've had more time to think, I thought you might want to go for a walk with me tomorrow. Have a picnic together.” she ventures, ending the sentence with a lilt. 

Harry adjusts the strap on his shoulder, running his fingers along the textured fabric, letting the words play over and over in his mind. She sounds awfully hopeful, but Harry hasn't spent much time with Ginny since school started to remember if he made plans with her. 

He blinks, and reckons a picnic is a good idea if the rain lets up. Maybe their other friends would want to come too. “Think about what?”

“Our relationship, of course.” Ginny says. “I gave you some time and space to think about it. Harry, you know the way I feel about you. I want to try being together.”

“Oh,” Harry doesn't know what to say. They already talked about this. 

She steps close, “Do you want to try dating for a while, at least? If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't. But we won't know unless we try.”

Harry backs up and feels the cold wall through his shirt. “Ginny, I told you before that I didn't feel the same way. Because I care about you but I don't love you, I'm telling you now, that nothing would come out of a relationship between the two of us.”

“Harry, I gave you time to think it over. It's been weeks.” she sounds hurt. “What more do you want from me?”

A wave of students exit the Great Hall, Hermione, Pansy and Malfoy included. Pansy glances at them as the trio pasts by, her arm linked with Malfoy’s. 

“I don't want anything from you except your friendship.” Harry can't stop the defensive tone in his voice. “Not now and probably not anytime soon. I thought you understood the way I felt.”

“How can you say that? I love you, Harry. Doesn't that matter to you?” her voice is progressively louder with each sentence. 

Harry thinks about the happy and healthy people he saw in the mirror of erised. He thinks about the way mirror-Harry looked. His hair tousles as he shakes his head. 

He licks his lips, bracing himself. He has to say this. He has to make her understand. “Ginny. I am not in any shape to date anyone, witch, wizard or muggle. I'm not ready. I constantly feel like I'm either drowning or I'm disinterested in everything. Sometimes I feel both things at the same time. I'm not interested in school, in quidditch, and certainly not in dating anyone. It's tiring. 

“Yeah, I appreciate your feelings and I'm flattered, but please stop asking me this. When I say I don't feel the same way about you, I'm saying I don't love you more than I love a friend.”

“So being loved isn't important enough to you?”

His brows furrow together in disbelief, her question taking him by surprise. When he speaks, it's in measured tones, “Of course it's _important to me_. What makes you think that being loved by someone is the only thing that is important to me? Ginny, to make a relationship work, you need two people to be involved. Ours wouldn't work, because I wouldn't be involved.”

Harry feels worse after every sentence leaves his lips. His heart plummets down to his toes, and he's on the verge of crying. How could Ginny ask him that? His honesty hurts him, is hurting the both of them, but he does not want to lie to her. 

“Why are you being so mean? You were never this mean before.” Ginny's eyes are brimming with tears, her lips stretched in a grimace. Her voice is harsh and pleading to Harry's ears. 

He resists the urge to move his bag, his shoulder is starting to ache. “I'm sorry. I know that I'm being harsh, but I'm not ready to date someone. Ginny, we owe it to ourselves and our friendship to find someone who can love us, and who we can love back.”

“Am I not good enough for you? Is that why you're hanging out with Parkinson all the time now?” Ginny questions, hands planted on her hips. 

Harry sputters, because he never considered that before. “It was never a question of whether or not you're good enough for me. You're a brilliant witch. I'm not the same person I was before the war and I don't want the same things I wanted then. That's all.”

In the back of his mind, Harry worries that he might not be good enough for _anyone_. Even for Ginny, if he changes his mind in the future. Especially the way he is now. He couldn't do anything during the war to help the people who died, but he's alive and he can still help those around him who need his help. He wants to get better, to want _to do things again_ , but it isn't going to happen overnight. 

Harry continues, “As for Pansy, she happens to be Hermione's friend and she apologized to me. I've forgiven her. Really Ginny, this has nothing to do with anyone else but myself. I want happiness for the both of us, but I don't think we'll find it together in the way you want.”

The hallway is empty, and Harry is positive the charm expired at least ten minutes ago. He wonders if he's powerful enough to Disapparate out of Hogwarts. Probably not. 

She fiercely swipes her wet face. “So that's it then? You're just going to throw my feelings away? Since you're not willing to try, and all.” Ginny screams. 

Harry flinches at her volume. He opens his mouth to reply, but really what can he say to that to fix the situation? 

He can't help it, but he feels his senses shutting down. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, and his throat works slowly as he swallows dust. Her voice reverberates off the stone walls, her scathing words cutting his lungs out of him like a neat severing charm. He focuses on breathing slowly. 

“I don't matter to you? After all we've been through? I can't believe how heartless and selfish you are!”

Harry’s emotions are bleeding quietly out of every pore, but he cannot bring himself to respond. 

“I thought I was worth more than a knut to you.”

Ginny’s broken sobs echo in the hall as she flees. Harry feels lost more than ever. Maybe if he stands here long enough, he'll become a part of the castle.


End file.
